


The Uses of Adversity

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, alt-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 60,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Sheila Paulson</p><p>Alternate universe story that breaks off after Death-watch. When Tarrant is evidently killed on a planet, and almost immediately afterward that leads the Liberator to Terminal, things happen just a bit differently. Who are the mysterious couple who rescue Tarrant? What happened on the prison planet Reyallen? Can the members of the crew ever reunite?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Uses of Adversity

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).

It seemed like there were Federation troopers everywhere. One moment they'd been enjoying the remote, pastoral planet, the next they were fighting for their lives.

The whole thing had begun as a form of therapy. Tarrant's brother had died a few weeks earlier. Once they'd left the Teal-Vandor Convention behind, his natural high at avenging his brother's death had faded, leaving him morose and silent. After enduring his gloomy brooding on the flight deck for a week or so, even Avon had begun to feel the need of a change, and when Cally had suggested they take a brief holiday, no one had disagreed. The planet Caston seemed appropriate, deserted except for one small human settlement, which they could easily avoid. Zen selected a beautiful site and they went down, leaving Orac to mind the teleport. Not even Avon resisted, but he didn't stay with the others. He went to investigate the volcanic system that seemed to coexist with the natural beauty of the meadows where they had materialized. No great cones spewed lava, but rather, it oozed up from the ground, pouring down toward the distant sea, a slow, inexorable river that would make the night sky glow. Preferring to avoid volcanoes after their visit to Obsidian, Dayna and Tarrant had headed in the opposite direction and Cally and Vila had followed them.

Somehow, it fell to Vila to keep an eye on Tarrant, though the thief didn't know how it had come about. Cally had warned the rest of them it might be best to make certain he wasn't alone, but when Vila awoke from a brief nap in the sunshine, the women had wandered off and only Tarrant remained. The pilot was half drowsing beside him, lying on his stomach, his chin propped on his hand. He looked lethargic but not particularly miserable, and Vila suspected the rest cure had finally done its work. Maybe they could return to the ship now and find a better resort, one that included good bars.

"One thing's wrong with this place," he ventured, half expecting Tarrant to bite his head off, as he'd been doing every time anyone talked to him lately. But the beauty of the planet had done its work well, for Tarrant rolled over on his back and stared up at the rosy-tinted sky.

"What's the one thing wrong with this place, Vila?" he asked tolerantly, a half-smile on his face. At his best, Tarrant was like this, though at his worst, he seemed a great bully, determined to make Vila take risks and bestir himself when he only wanted to be left in peace. Yet there were times, not that he'd ever admit it, when Vila rather liked the great lout. Give him a few years to stop rushing into danger without looking and he might be fairly tolerable, especially if Vila could have a hand in the molding process.

"No bars," Vila said. "All this nature--it might be good for Cally and Dayna. They're used to the outdoors. But I'm used to the domes. Took me forever to get used to all this space." He waved a hand at the vault of the sky. "Didn't seem as bad on Cygnus Alpha at first, but when we went to Saurian Major--where we found Cally--the sky was red and it looked like it was going to press down and smother me. I didn't like it. Avon didn't either," he added knowingly. "But he wouldn't let it show. Protects himself very well, does our Avon."

"I've noticed," said Tarrant wryly. "For all the good it does him. If nothing touched him, he wouldn't be the way he's been lately. He could've killed his Anna and walked away without looking back. He thinks that's what he's done, but he's wrong."

"So now you're an Avon expert," Vila piped up, looking up at the sky and wondering why It seemed to much more alien than the ceilings of the domes when they were man-made and this was natural. But it wasn't natural for him.

"l doubt anyone's an Avon expert," Tarrant replied. "Unless it's Blake. But he ran, didn't he? Maybe Avon was one of the things that drove him away."

Vila sucked in his breath and looked around hastily to make certain Avon hadn't overheard. "Don't say that too loud, Tarrant. It just might be true--that Blake finally had enough of Avon and didn't want to come back.. They didn't get on very well, toward the end. I think he's considered that, though. I sometimes think he doesn't believe anyone could care about him."

"So he goes out of his way to be nasty," Tarrant replied, adding thoughtfully, "and gives them a reason. If they stay away because he's nasty to them, then they don't stay away because he's basically unlovable, is that it?"

Vila was surprised because that was precisely it, something he'd wondered at for a time but had never fully conceptualized. He knew it was far more than that--one couldn't define Avon by any simple theory, though that one wasn't far wrong. But he hadn't expected Tarrant to know it. He turned and stared at Tarrant through narrowed eyes.

"Well, it makes sense. He's been a bit better just lately."

"He's been as nasty to me as ever," Tarrant began, then he caught himself. "No he hasn't. He's seemed that way on the surface, but it's because that's the way he and I get on best. Catch him being sympathetic?" Recalling Deeta, Tarrant went silent a moment, then he said firmly, "He's had a brother once, or so you've said. I think he's being nice to me."

Vila opened his mouth to say, 'He's got a funny way of showing it,' and at the last minute, didn't. Tarrant was right. In his own gruff way, Avon had been remarkably forbearing with the younger man In the past few weeks. "You're right," he discovered. "He was nice to me that way too, when Kerrill--"

Tarrant nodded. "I was an ass about that whole mess," he said, far more easily than Vila had expected. "I said it was no worse than usual for you down there, but it was."

"I don't like dangerous missions," Vila said, knowing Tarrant wouldn't mock him this time. "I had a feel about the place. I still don't like outside that much, but most of the time, the rest of you are there too. When we go down and break into bases, they're inside. I don't like being outside by myself. It isn't natural. Then, when I got in, Bayban was there." He smiled suddenly. "And Kerrill."

"Dayna thought I was a bloody fool about Kerrill," Tarrant admitted. "I think I was. Sorry, Vila."

Vila nodded, a little embarrassed. "Sorry about Deeta," he said in return. "I think I would have liked him."

"How could you..." Tarrant's voice trailed off. "You were in the link," he remembered.

"I came out of it before you did," Vila admitted, realizing Tarrant wanted to talk about it. It wasn't the thief's first choice, but Cally would get at him if he didn't make the effort. "But I was in there for awhile, and what I saw, I liked. He was too good with his gun for the likes of me, but I'm used to people with guns. He had--" he hesitated, looking for the right thing to say, something that would actually help, though he doubted anything would. "He had honor. Wouldn't shoot Vinni in the back."

"Look where it got him," Tarrant replied sadly. He looked rather as if he meant to cry, and Vila stared at him, horrified. What would Cally expect of him then?

But he never found out. A shout made them both spin around, scrambling to their feet, only to duck and go for weapons as Federation troopers seemed to emerge from the very ground, not too far away.

The soldiers couldn't have recognized them so quickly, but they weren't predisposed to friendliness. Guns came up and Vila and Tarrant dived for cover as best they could. Scrambling hastily behind a convenient rock, Vila thumbed the button on his teleport bracelet and bawled, "Orac, bring us up immediately!"

Nothing happened. He turned wide, frightened eyes on Tarrant, who said, "Maybe they've gone off station."

"More likely that nasty little box is playing games and can't be bothered with us. What'll we do, Tarrant?"

When Tarrant's call for help evoked no response, the pilot glanced around. "We'll try to work our way over to the volcanic area," he said. "More cover just this side of it. Stay low, Vila, and run."

Vila fled. It seemed that a blaster bolt was always just missing his head or his arm or some other important part of his anatomy, and once Tarrant bit back a choked cry and clutched at his leg, but the wound must have been minor because it didn't slow him down. They took turns giving each other cover, taking pot shots at the troops, and managed to down a few of them, but there were still halt a dozen left and likely to be more any minute.

Then there _were_ more, at least one more, popping up right in front of Vila. The terrain had roughened beneath their feet, hardened lava making running treacherous, and Vila stumbled and nearly fell--into the arms of one more trooper. He blurted out a terrified cry and tried to struggle free. "Tarrant!"

The pilot dove for the trooper, catching him around the waist and bearing him away from Vila, as they struggled for control of the trooper's gun. Near to panic, Vila ducked behind a handy outcrop of rock and sent off a few random shots at the other troopers, who had pulled back to wait. One of them returned fire, forcing Vila to shrink down behind his rock.

It was much hotter there, and Vila realized they had come right up to the lava flow in their desperate flight. "Orac," he yelled into his teleport bracelet. "If you don't bring us up this very minute, I shall--"

He broke off in mid sentence as Tarrant's and the trooper's struggles took them nearer and nearer to the little cliff that overhung the main lava flow. "Tarrant, watch your feet," shouted Vila in warning. "You're too close--"

But his cry was too late. Suddenly the lip of the cliff crumbled beneath their feet. While Vila stared in horror, making a futile and abortive dive in that direction, Tarrant and the trooper went crashing over the edge. Twin yells burst out, full of fear and outrage, and stopped abruptly.

Shaking with panicked reaction, Vila edged forward, ignoring the troopers. Perhaps five meters below him, the lava oozed past in its snail's race to the sea. As Vila watched, the trooper's body vanished beneath it, along with Tarrant's gun. The pilot had already been swallowed up, for there was no trace of him.

Naked shock held Vila rigid for perhaps ten seconds, then reaction took him and his body was wracked by dry heaves. He heard the rest of the troopers pelting up, the stones rattling beneath their pounding feet, and he froze, trapped between them and the fire, nowhere else to go. Then, moments before they reached him, the teleport took him and he fell gasping, to the teleport grid under the startled gaze of Kerr Avon.

"Where the bloody hell have you been!" Vila cried accusingly. "I've been calling and calling. Damn you, Tarrant's dead and it's all your fault!"

Avon froze as if he'd been poleaxed, his face going curiously still. "Dead?" he repeated in a voice that held no emotion at all.

"There's Federation troops down there, Avon. Some kind of underground base. They came upon us and chased us and one of them fought with Tarrant. They fell into the lava." He shuddered. The sight of the trooper's body catching flame before his eyes just before It was engulfed would live with him forever. At least he hadn't been forced to watch Tarrant die.

Shock ran across Avon's face too. The old stone face couldn't stop his reaction to that, thought Vila with bitter satisfaction. "Why wouldn't you teleport us?" he demanded accusingly.

"Orac was on call," he said. "I'd just returned to the ship and gone to change my clothes. As I came along the passage, I heard you calling and I got here as quickly as I could. As for Orac, I suspect it has been engaged in private research."

"Private research!" echoed Vila numbly. "I'll give him private research. I'll give it with an axe."

"Perhaps I will help you," Avon replied. He sat at the controls and fiddled with them a moment. Nothing happened. Vila realized he'd tried to bring up Tarrant. Now he abandoned the attempt and signaled Cally and Dayna. "Stand by to come up. The Federation is here."

The moment the two women were on board, Avon set off for the flight deck in a near run, no doubt to set a new course for the _Liberator_. Cally and Dayna stared at Vila, who had hauled himself to his feet and was standing sickly beside the bracelet tray. "Vila, what is wrong?" Cally asked. "I know it is something terrible. Where is Tarrant?"

Dayna tensed automatically, as if Cally were broadcasting her tensions for all of them to feel. "Yes, Vila, where's Tarrant?" she asked. "Was he caught?"

"No," said Vila in a small voice. Suddenly cold, he wrapped his arms across his chest and dropped his eyes so as not to witness their reaction. "He's dead."

*** *** ***

Once Caston had been left behind without pursuit, Dayna fled the flight deck precipitously. Cally looked after her a moment, then said softly, "I shall go to her," and followed.

Exchanging a solemn look with Avon, the thief headed for the exit too, pausing there reluctantly. "Do you want me to stay, Avon?" he offered in a small voice.

"No." Avon's voice was sharper than usual. He controlled his temper and said in a level tone, "There is no need for you to remain if you would prefer to leave. I shall question Orac about its failure to teleport promptly." He headed for Orac in a menacing manner and a part of Vila wanted to stay and watch him annihilate the little computer, but another part only wanted to be left alone, so he nodded. "Give him a good one for me." He didn't look back.

He'd gone no further than his room when he realized he didn't want to be alone after all. Alone, it was all too easy to remember the screams of the falling men and the sight of the Federation trooper. Alone, there was nothing to distract him from his vivid memories. Alone, he would do nothing more useful than soak up adrenalin and soma. That he wanted adrenalin and soma badly didn't matter now. He had a feeling he couldn't quite get drunk enough to blot out the memories.

It wasn't that he was all that fond of Tarrant, really, though he'd come to tolerate the young twit. But after losing Blake and Jenna--and in spite of Avon's determined search for Blake, there was no guarantee that he was alive or that he had even survived the Andromedan War--it seemed harder to lose someone else. First Gan had gone, then Blake and Jenna, and now Tarrant. It meant that any of them could die at any minute, and, presented with a depressing view of his own mortality, Vila opted for company. Avon was not the most cheerful of companions, but surely not even grief could stand up to Avon's basilisk glare.

Vila trotted back to the flight deck, prepared to seek comfort from the one person on the ship least qualified to give it.

Something made him pause in the entry. Perhaps Avon missed Tarrant too, and the last thing Vila wanted was to surprise an expression of grief on his friend's face. Better to come tripping in, falling all over his feet and winning Avon's scorn, than to slip in without a warning.

Avon was in conference with Orac, and while Vila could not make out the actual words of the conversation, he could hear Orac boring on and on. Possibly its justification for failing to bring up Tarrant. It would have to be a world-class explanation for Avon to tolerate it.

Suddenly Avon's face changed abruptly, revealing something Vila hadn't seen there in a long time. It was compounded of relief and even, unlikely as it might seem, happiness. That didn't last, of course. Avon was not a smiling man; even when he was happy, he glowered, and it took someone as clever as Vila to tell the difference. But whatever Orac had told him that had produced this surprising effect fell victim to Avon's natural suspicion and he narrowed his eyes, barking a sharp, "Are you certain?" at Orac that carried to Vila's hiding place.

Orac began another tediously long explanation, and Avon watched the computer with great suspicion, interrupting here and there with questions that allowed Vila to hear a word here or there, such unlikely ones as, "...voice print...," and, "...relay points..." It seemed to have nothing to do with Tarrant at all.

After another soliloquy by Orac, Avon started in, evidently giving Ensor's creation detailed instructions. His face had hardened, that moment of uninhibited joy vanished as if it had never been. It was almost as if Vila looked at a stranger, a cold, bitter stranger who held no trace of humanity at all. Perhaps he had been so surprised to discover as much of it left in him that he'd purged what remained of it.

This might be the wrong time to seek Avon's company. Vila started to back away, and managed to trip without intending it.

Avon's eyes pinned Vila in a near-lethal glare. "What are you doing there?" he barked.

"Nothing, Avon. Just coming along to keep you company."

"When I have need of your dubious company, I shall ask for it," Avon said furiously. "I will not have you eavesdropping on me. Go away. Get out of here now." The threat was so evident in his words that Vila found himself backing up as if he feared Avon would attack him.

But he didn't give way entirely. "Did Orac say anything about...um, Tarrant?" he asked.

"No." Avon's lips drew taut over the word. "Get out of here. Tell the others to stay away, Vila. No one is to come in here."

"Oh, here now, that's hardly fair. You're not the only one who matters on this ship."

"Get. Out. Of. Here." He took a menacing step toward Vila and the thief's nerve finally failed him. He walked backward until he was out of sight, then he turned and ran all the way back to his cabin. Whatever Orac had said to Avon was lethal stuff, and Vila wanted nothing to do with it. Perhaps it was time to dig out the adrenalin and soma after all.

He was well into his second glass when a new thought occurred to him, one so horrifying that he poured himself a third glass and swallowed it in one gulp to avoid thinking about it. But the liquor had lost its power to deaden the nerve endings. He was completely sober. Feeling a little sick, he pushed the beaker away and put down the glass, facing a conclusion that stabbed like a sword.

What if Avon had lied? What if he'd been there all along? What if he'd told Orac not to bring them up? What if he wanted rid of them all?

It didn't fit all the facts. Avon had seemed genuinely shocked at Tarrant's death, genuinely furious at Orac. But he'd forgotten old Tarrant fast enough once Orac started talking. Orac was a dark horse, likely to turn on any of them if it felt the urge. Maybe Orac had been playing puppeteer, manipulating them all the time since they'd got it. Maybe it had suppressed Blake's and Jenna's messages and kept them away. Maybe it wasn't Avon who was getting rid of the crew one by one. Maybe it was Orac.

Vila shook his head. He was getting fanciful now. Orac couldn't have caused Gan's death. No. That had just happened, though Blake's pigheaded determination had helped it along quite nicely. But since then... Vila thought of all the nasty things that had happened to them and wondered how much of it was Orac's fault. Whatever it had said to Avon this time must be a stunner.

Vila heaved a sigh. Since Gan's death he'd found himself starting to like the other man, as unlikely as that seemed. Nothing would have impelled him to admit it, but he'd greatly enjoyed the slanging matches he and Avon had shared this past year, and he had a fair idea Avon enjoyed them too. Then Anna Grant had re-entered the picture, the nasty bitch, and Avon had frozen up again. Vila had had his work cut out for him to persuade the granite-faced tech to open up. Just lately, he'd felt he was making progress. But there'd been nothing like this before.

Maybe it was too much for him to handle on his own. He needed help, and the best help left was Cally. Maybe he should go looking for her. She might still be with Dayna, but Dayna wasn't one to accept comfort easily. She might have sent Cally away.

Squaring his shoulders, Vila left his cabin and went searching for Cally, determined to get to the bottom of this latest mess.

*** *** ***

"I do not know, Vila," said Cally. Vila had found her in her quarters engaged in some kind of Auron meditation. Her eyes held shadows for Tarrant, but she was alert and clever, and she wasn't afraid of Avon. It made her an ideal conspirator. Of course Dayna wasn't afraid of Avon either, but Dayna had been closer to Tarrant than either she or Tarrant had realized and she must feel like she'd had the stuffing kicked out of her right about now. So it had to be Cally.

"But something's _wrong_ ," Vila insisted. "You weren't there, Cally. That was not your normal Avon. I've never seen him so nasty--and I've seen him pretty nasty."

"Perhaps it is his means of covering his grief," she volunteered unconvincingly. She had been sitting cross-legged on her bed, but now she unfolded herself and stretched her arms and legs.

"Grief? Avon?" Vila's voice held heavy skepticism.

"Do not think that because he does not show it, Avon does not suffer, Vila."

"I know he suffers," Vila admitted. "Probably more than the rest of us, too, though he goes around acting like his high and mighty manner makes him immune. But _Tarrant_? He and Avon--"

"Were beginning to like each other," Cally insisted. "I have watched Avon these past two weeks, and he was very kind to Tarrant in his own way. It was not obvious, for expressing concern and sympathy is not his way. But a good fight with Avon would have done Tarrant much good. Avon seemed to know just when to provoke him. Perhaps he did not even realize it until now how much he relied upon Tarrant. He did trust him and knew that when it came to the point, Tarrant would back him, even though they'd argue ahead of time. He is hurting, Vila."

"Yes, he's hurting me. Yelling at me like that. I'm used to Avon picking on me, Cally. I quite like it. Means he knows I'm there, and we both have fun but this wasn't just picking on me. It was--nasty. Really bad. But the worst part is that just before that, for a minute, he looked happy. Really happy. That scared me."

"What would make him happy, Vila?" Cally asked. "Especially now. I do not believe your theory that Avon has decided to rid himself of us. If he wanted to do that, he would choose a more certain method than delaying a teleport."

"He'd come back and changed his clothes," Vila remembered. "If he'd wanted free of us, he could have left us down there. Then it isn't Avon, is it? It's Orac."

"We do not even know that, Vila." She concentrated. "We have too little information to act. I will go to the flight deck."

"Avon told me to keep you and Dayna away."

"This is not only Avon's ship," she said with that kind of resolute determination that she could manage so well. Cally didn't look tough, but perhaps she was a match for Avon after all.

"You--won't want me along, will you?" he asked uneasily.

For a moment, amusement twinkled in her eyes. "That's my Vila," she teased him gently. "No, don't come. If Avon has already sent you away, it might enrage him if you returned. I shall go alone."

"You're right, Cally, that's a good idea. Going alone, that is. He won't take it out on you, whatever it is. I know he won't."

She gave him a reassuring smile that didn't quite take. "Walk along with me part of the way, Vila."

"Walk along with you? Well, If you're sure I should..." He fell into step reluctantly. "Shouldn't we do something about Orac then?"

"If the problem is Orac, neither of us are qualified to deal with it, Vila," she reminded him. "Avon alone has the skill to cope with Orac."

Vila's heart sank. "That's right, he does," he muttered. "But if Orac's conning him... I don't like this, Cally. I don't like it at all."

"Neither do I. It is bad enough that Tarrant..."

Vila heaved a vast sigh. Everything was falling apart, and he couldn't imagine anything they could do to put it together again.

*** *** ***

Cally entered the flight deck quietly, pausing just at the top of the steps, looking around for Avon. He was standing in front of Orac staring away from her at the main screen on which a diagram showed some kind of relay loop, a line tracing from planet to planet as it bouncing a signal a vast distance. "Only you can verify that particular code, Orac," Avon was saying in a tightly controlled voice. Even from here she could feel the tension that emanated from him as strongly as if it were a beacon. Though she couldn't read minds, the emotions her companions projected were sometimes all too obvious. But Avon's feelings were such a confused jumble that she couldn't begin to name them all.

In spite of his harsh scowl, the feeling most clearly transmitted was hope, followed almost immediately by suspicion, then by fear of betrayal. Something had happened that she could not define, and it even obscured the present tragedy. As she stood watching him, Cally knew that he was no more likely to tell her what it was than he had Vila.

+Information.+

Avon looked up sharply. He must have noticed Cally from the corner of his eye, for he put up a hasty hand and said, "Just a moment, Zen," before turning to face the Auron. "What is it, Cally?"

"Vila was concerned about you."

"Vila has no right," Avon snapped then caught himself. "Cally, I am engaged in a project that requires time and privacy. I should like the flight deck to myself."

"Do you need help?"

"No." That was final, the tone that would not allow further questions.

She frowned and plunged on anyway. "Vila was half afraid that Orac had deliberately refused to retrieve him and Tarrant."

Avon met her eyes for a moment, then he turned away. "If I thought that were true, I should take great pleasure in interfering with Orac's circuits--permanently." His mouth traced a tight line. His new obsession could not entirely conceal his shock at the events on Caston. Perhaps he needed his privacy and a compelling project in order to deal with his regret at Tarrant's death. She doubted he could admit to grief. Though he and the young pilot had often argued, they had often worked well together. Avon would miss Tarrant, but couldn't show it. This came hard on the heels of Anna Grant's death, too. Better to ease the pressure. Vila may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I know." She patted his arm lightly. "I shall go now, but I know you, Avon. Do not forget to rest, or I shall make you rest."

For a moment, familiar amusement touched his eyes at the thought of anyone making him do something he didn't want to do, then his thoughts slipped away from her and he turned back to Orac and Zen, ignoring her presence. He did not forget her enough to resume his activity while she waited, so she sighed, muttered, "Humans!" under her breath, and left the flight deck. Vila would be disappointed, but she doubted there was another option. She would wait and watch. Perhaps the right time would come.

*** *** ***

Jocasta Rye stared down at the bodies of the troopers who lay near the river of lava. "They've not been dead long," she reported to her companion, a tall man with cropped hair and a flowing mustache. "Not more than half a day, I'd say." The gun in her hand never wavered as she scanned the scene, prepared for threat, no matter what its source.

"The troop ships we saw left in a hurry," he agreed. Like her, he was armed and wary, his face taut and uneasy. "Do you think the _Liberator_ was here?"

"Every report we've picked up in the last month or so indicates we're not far behind the _Liberator_ ," she agreed. She bent over one of the bodies and touched its wrist. "Not long. Rigor mortis has set in." Wiping her hand distastefully on her skirt, she tightened the grip on the gun in her other hand. She didn't like this place. A hidden Federation base must serve some purpose, but this one had been abandoned quickly. No one had challenged them when they'd got their ship down. But there'd been a base here for some reason, and Federation patrols don't turn and run meaninglessly. She knew they'd have to try to get into the place if they could. They might need the information.

Walking over to the drop, she looked down at the molten lava that ran below her in its inexorable glide to the distant ocean. She couldn't quite see it from here, but steam, like low hanging clouds marked its boundaries. "I can't say I like the surface conditions here," she decided. "Maybe it was eating away at their base. Maybe the _Liberator_ coming here was the last straw. What do you suppose they were after?"

He started to reply, but abruptly she shot out her hand for silence. "Wait!" The sound seemed to come out of the lava itself, a faint, breathless moan that made her tense and look around blankly. "l heard something," she explained over her shoulder.

"Where, down _there_?" her companion asked in disbelief. Joining her, he peered down at the glowing path only to jerk to attention when the sound was repeated. "You're right. Someone's down there."

She lay on her stomach and peered over the edge, discovering that the bank had crumbled away a little distance beneath her, leaving a hollowed out ledge not two meters above the lava. On the ledge lay the body of a man, his face flushed from the heat, blood obscuring half his face. One arm dangled above the lava, bent at an unnatural angle, and he wore on his broken wrist an equally broken bracelet.

The woman stared in disbelief, then she said, "You'd better take a look at this, Damon."

The man called Damon joined her. "He's got the devil's own luck. I wonder how we'll get him up from there. Run back to the ship and get a rope. I'll go down for him."

"You can't. It's too dangerous."

"Should I leave him there to die? That's what the Federation would do. He's alive. I mean him to stay that way."

"I wonder who he is."

"There's only one person he could be," he replied positively. "We've been following the _Liberator_. That's a teleport bracelet if I ever saw one. He must be Del Tarrant."

"Del Tarrant," she echoed, watching the man through narrowed eyes before she scrambled to her feet and returned to the ship for a rope.

The rescue proved awkward and somewhat precarious; even with a double looped rope. Damon went down and brought Tarrant--if it were he--up again, nearly losing his footing not once but twice. Each time Jocasta found herself struggling to steady the swinging rope, and each time she had to work even harder to steady her wildly beating heart. But finally Tarrant lay at their feet and they checked him for injuries. The broken arm was the obvious one, but they could treat that back on their ship. His hand was a little burned, the skin reddened from its proximity to the lava. Then there was a bad cut over his right eye which would probably leave a scar, and the purpled, puffy skin around it suggested a hard blow and a possible head injury. He didn't revive when they probed it with exploring fingers, but he winced and moaned in faint protest. He had a slight blaster burn on one leg.

"Tarrant," she said sharply. "Wake up, Tarrant."

His eyelids fluttered and he stared up at her blankly, squinting a little as if she were out of focus. Blue eyes met brown, then he sighed lightly and relaxed into sleep.

"Let's get him back to the ship." Damon picked up the thinner man with little effort and draped him carefully over one shoulder. She supported the broken arm all the way back to the ship.

*** *** ***

There had been a woman. Tarrant could vaguely remember that. She had called him by name and looked at him, but he hadn't recognized her. Behind her stood a man, but he was blurred and completely out of focus. Now, feeling only slightly more comfortable, Tarrant ventured to open his eyes once more. It wasn't too difficult. The weight that held them down couldn't have been more than twenty kilos.

He was in a ship's medical unit. The esoteric equipment and the diagnostic bed defined it as the surgical area and his pilot's sense told him he was in space. But it wasn't a familiar place. He had never been here before. His arm was encased in a restraint while a sonic healer made repeated passes over it. Broken, evidently. He hadn't seen a sonic healer like this in a long time--only read about them, really. They were half a century out of date, but they worked well enough. He twisted around for a look at his arm. It looked swollen and inflamed and the skin on his hand was reddened and taut, but the deep pain was easing even as he watched. The program was nearly run. His injured leg felt better already.

He studied the rest of the room. Nothing Federation about it, none of that formal efficiency that generally accompanied such places, and no trace of conditioning equipment either. Just a routine, old fashioned medical unit, prepared to meet a variety of needs as simply as possible as if the ship didn't run to a medic of its own.

The door opened inward and the woman he had seen before came in. She checked the timer on the sonic device, nodded to herself, then, when it pinged to announce completion, she shut it down. Only then did she look at Tarrant himself, mildly surprised to see him watching her. "So you're awake."

"As you can see." She might not be Federation but this could easily be a trap. Bounty hunters weren't Federation either, but he wanted nothing to do with them, and this woman looked tough and competent in spite of her beauty. She wore her gun naturally with no swagger, no pretense, as if it were a tool she used when needed. She was likely to be very dangerous.

"Del Tarrant," she said. "That's your name."

"Is it?"

"We know who you are." She picked up the ruin of his teleport bracelet from the table near the bed and displayed it before his eyes. He glanced at his arm and back at the bracelet. His, evidently. He couldn't remember breaking his arm, but then perhaps he wouldn't. He wasn't even sure he remembered the planet where she'd found him. He cast his mind back to the _Liberator_ and came up against the memory of his brother's death. It was as vivid as if it had just happened and he sucked in his breath sharply, feeling the pain strike him afresh. Dropping his eyes so she couldn't read it there, he took a deep breath to steady himself.

She touched his shoulder sympathetically. She wouldn't know what he was thinking but she must have guessed something was wrong. "You're not badly hurt," she explained in a carefully matter of fact voice. "The bone in your arm has been knitted, and the burn will continue to improve. You had a concussion, a mild blaster burn, and various cuts and bruises from the fall."

"Fall?"

"You don't remember? You don't know what happened to you?"

"My brother..." he said involuntarily.

"He was with you?" She sounded shocked. "There was no one else..."

"No, not there. At the Teal-Vandor Convention."

"That was some weeks ago. Of course! Deeta Tarrant. First Champion of Teal. I'm sorry." Her sympathy was comfortable, as if she knew how it felt to lose people close to her, but she didn't push it.

He was grateful for that. "So was I. Where did you find me?"

"Caston. Sound familiar?"

"A little." He frowned, trying to think, suddenly aware of the pain in his head. He winced and closed his eyes. "It's vague. What about the others?"

"Others?" she asked with interest. "You were alone when we found you."

He puzzled over that. Surely Avon wouldn't abandon him when he was injured. Cally and Dayna wouldn't allow it, even if Avon seemed so inclined. But his presence here didn't mean he'd been abandoned. It could mean he'd been captured. It could even mean the others were dead. He shivered slightly, unable to stop.

"You have the advantage over me," he said. "You know my name. I don't know yours or your friend's."

"This is our ship," she said pointedly. "We ask the questions here." But she turned to the intercom and activated it. "He's awake," she announced.

"I'll be down. I've got some questions."

"Federation?" Tarrant asked her. "That's it, isn't it? This is a Federation ship."

She smiled. "lf it is, he'll be quite surprised. Tell me about your friends on the _Liberator_."

"You can hardly expect me to do that."

"Oh, but we do." She folded her arms across her chest in a gesture that reminded him a little of Avon and waited calmly.

Presently her companion arrived, a tall man, solidly built, with dark, short-cropped hair and a bushy mustache. He paused in the doorway staring at Tarrant with narrowed eyes. Tarrant half sat up at the sight of him, frowning. He knew that face. Surely he knew it.

The unwary movement sent pain through his body and he felt the cobwebs wrapping themselves around his mind once more. Struggling to stay awake, he fought a losing battle, sinking back against the bed, while the short haired man and the brown haired woman revolved around before his eyes until they vanished into the maelstrom of his unconsciousness.

*** *** ***

Dayna came storming into the rest room where Cally and Vila sat idly over a half-ignored chessboard, and flung herself into the nearest chair. "He's impossible," she ranted. "Absolutely impossible."

"That's nothing new," Vila replied. He suspected. Dayna was so angry at Avon because it was easier than being upset about Tarrant, but it wouldn't do to say so. It was the kind of thing he wasn't expected to notice, after all. "He's always impossible," he continued. "What's he done now?"

"l went to the flight deck. He's been there over thirty hours and I thought someone should do something about it." Her eyes flashed. "The _Liberator_ had just reached some prearranged point, and Avon seemed rather at a loss, for there was nothing there. No planets within range, nothing. He started to tell me about receiving a message, then Zen reported that a signal was coming in."

"Zen?" asked Vila sharply. "Not Orac?"

"No, Zen. The minute it came in, Avon ordered the message displayed at his position--so I couldn't accidentally overhear it--and then he ordered me away again. He said he'd comply with the message. Whatever it is, he's taking us somewhere. I don't like it."

"You don't know where?"

"No. The only thing he said was that I should try trusting him." She made an impatient gesture. "He's been secretive before and it hasn't gone badly, but he's never been this mysterious."

A sound behind her startled her and she jumped as Avon came striding in. "I'm going to rest," he observed flatly. "You can take the watch now, Vila."

"Wonderful. I've been looking forward to that."

"Where are we going, Avon?" Dayna challenged.

"Profound philosophical questions have never really interested me."

The young woman made an impatient sound, but Cally said practically, "Avon, where is the ship headed?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't the faintest idea." He looked as closed away as Vila had ever seen him, but his tone was not quite as hostile as he had expected. The thief wondered if any of it was due to Tarrant or if it all had to do with the mysterious message Avon had awaited. Had it been directed at Zen in the first place and Orac simply picked it up, or was the computer involved? Avon didn't have Orac with him.

Vila's eyes narrowed in thought. "I'll take the watch," he volunteered.

Avon shot him a sharply suspicious look before he walked away. The minute he'd gone, Vila exchanged a look with the two women and the three of them practically ran for the flight deck.

Orac's key was not inserted but the computer was there. Vila headed for the it, while Cally said, "Zen, state course and speed."

+That information is not available.+

"What about a report of messages that have come in since we left Caston," prompted Dayna.

+That information has been stored and restricted by Kerr Avon. Retrieval will require a voice code.+

"Transmitted by Avon himself, I'll bet." Vila slipped Orac's key in place. "Orac, be a good computer and tell us what's going on, will you?" he wheedled.

+Such a disgusting attempt to get round me is useless,+ Orac informed him. +The information you seek has been keyed to a voice lock.+

"He covers all the bases, doesn't he?" Dayna groused. "Zen, will you give us our present position?"

+Negative.+

"He's afraid we can get several position statements and triangulate them," muttered Vila. "Orac, listen here. I don't like the way Avon's acting. It's suspicious. Very suspicious. I put it to you like this. The way he's acting could be dangerous--to you as well as us. I want you to monitor his behaviour. If he does anything that might endanger you, the rest of us, or the _Liberator_ , your priority will be to protect yourself--and us along with you--in any way you can. And that's an order with no countermand."

He noticed Cally and Dayna staring at him in some amazement and added quickly, "Well, I have to protect myself don't I?" in a whining voice that he suspected deceived neither of them. It was too bad. lf he got the reputation as a clever thinker, they'd be after him to do all kinds of work, and he couldn't be having that. As for now, he'd protected them as best he could. He added in his normal tones, "You've got to hand it to Avon. He really knows how to keep a secret. He probably won't even talk to himself."

Nothing much happened on the watch beyond a lot of speculation about their destination and about Avon's behavior. They didn't discuss Tarrant at all, but the thought of him was always present hovering beneath the surface. Dayna's face was grave and she said little, and Cally was serious, pain occasionally flashing in her eyes, as if she had picked up on a random emotion from one of the others. Cally couldn't read their minds, but Vila had long suspected she could sense their feelings. Maybe that was why she could deal with Avon so well.

It was some hours before there was any kind of interruption, and when it came, it led to a dramatic blowup.

+Information,+ announced Zen suddenly. +Forward sensors indicate a broad spectrum of unidentified matter across projected flight path.+

"Analysis," said Cally quickly, glancing up and frowning. If it was nothing important, Zen wouldn't have bothered to mention it.

+Preliminary readings have failed to identify the nature of the material,+ offered Zen unhelpfully.

Vila didn't like the sound of that. He shivered. Nasty stuff lurking in their flight path might well prove to be something vicious--or hungry.

"Structure?" he asked. Better to know than to allow his imagination full rein. It was always easier If he knew what he was afraid of.

+Minute fluid particles.+

"If we go through it, will we be endangered? Will the hull be penetrated?" asked Cally.

+Negative. Detectors register a high level of energy within the band that might generate flight turbulence.+

"That doesn't sound too dangerous," Dayna replied. "We've been through turbulence before."

Avon came strolling onto the flight deck, then paused, sensing the atmosphere there. "What's going on?"

"A cloud of fluid particles up ahead," Cally explained. "Zen hasn't identified them yet."

"Put it on the main screen." Avon's orders were always practical. Vila remembered their unknown destination and corrected that. No. Avon's orders were _usually_ practical.

He didn't like the look of the stuff. It had a nasty reddish glow and resembled nothing Vila had ever seen before. It might be nothing, but you never know. He'd learned a long time ago that you never dared assume anything was harmless because nothing ever was, and the moment you turned your back on something innocuous, it grew great teeth and tried to take bites out of you.

"Apparently it's energy charged," Dayna explained to him. "So it might shake us about a bit."

"Let's be on the safe side and go around it," Vila suggested quickly.

"No, we stay on course," replied Avon flatly.

"Why should we take that kind of risk?" Dayna persisted. "I can't think of any good reason, and you won't give us one." She seemed determined to stand up to him, as Tarrant might have done. "Zen, what are your recommendations?"

+The consensus of computer systems favor course deviation to avoid contact. In this environment it is prudent to treat any unexplained phenomenon as potentially dangerous.+

"Isn't that what I just said?" Vila asked brightly. "With a brain like mine, who needs computers?"

"Zen, maintain present course, no deviations, status one, subcategory Q, no countermand."

+It is not possible to obey that order,+ returned Zen.

Avon spun around to stare at the computer, his face gone utterly cold with a fury stronger than anything Vila had seen on his face before. "Explain," he barked out.

+The Orac computer has given a prior command, with no countermands, requiring the _Liberator_ to initiate course deviation around the phenomenon.+

Avon moved threateningly toward Orac. "Explain," he ground out. "I will tolerate no interference."

Fearing Orac would volunteer the information that the thief had given instructions to the computer, Vila bit his bottom lip. But Orac said, +Passing through such a phenomenon could destroy the _Liberator_ and its crew, myself included.+

"You. Will. Obey. My. Orders."

+I will not.+

"Avon?" Vila edged forward cautiously, inserting himself between Avon and Ensor's creation. "Wait a minute. If we're on a schedule, we'll boost speed. Orac can do the calculations. I don't know where you're going or why, but we won't be late. Orac, do it. Zen, prepare to accept course and speed changes from Orac." His voice had got faster and faster as he spoke, his eyes never leaving Avon's face.

Avon moved abruptly and Vila realized with shock that the tech had a gun in his hand. It was pointing at Vila, and it didn't look like it would take much to make him use it.

+Confirmed,+ boomed Zen.

In spite of this concession, Avon didn't lower the gun. "I will tolerate no further interference, from you or from anyone on this ship. No one is going to stop this. Do I make myself clear?"

Vila nodded automatically. His ready concession made not the slightest dent in Avon's armor. The tech continued in a voice heavy with menace, "Now get out of my way." He pushed past a gaping Vila and left the flight deck without looking back.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Dayna stared, wide-eyed, after Avon and Cally was frowning. She came over to Vila, who had frozen in place. "You were lucky," she said. "I think he almost meant to kill you."

"He _would_ have killed you if he'd known what orders you'd given Orac," Dayna added.

Vila gulped, feeling sick. He smiled weakly. "I know. Cally, what's all this about?"

She went to stare at the main screen as the _Liberator_ began to circle the fluid particles. "I wish I knew, Vila," she replied in an abstracted voice. "I really wish I knew."

*** *** ***

When Tarrant revived again, he felt a little better, though his head still throbbed and his stomach was still queasy. Opening his eyes cautiously, he found the crop-haired man dozing in a chair near the bed, and took the opportunity to study him carefully.

Tarrant had been caught by a sense of familiarity about the man before, as if he'd met him once before, or seen him in a viscast somewhere. His hair was little longer than Servalan's, though it was beginning to wave as it grew, and there was a healthy growth of grey woven through it. A scar touched the corner of one eye. The injury that caused it must have been a nasty one. It had none of the look of an old injury, the scar showing pink. His face was hollowed out as if he'd been sick or injured and spent some time recovering, and he slept as if he needed it.

But he must have sensed Tarrant's eyes upon him for he straightened up abruptly, blinking at Tarrant for a moment. "Awake again? Let's not try any acrobatics this time, shall we? Do you want a painkiller?"

"I could stand one," Tarrant conceded, "If that's all it is."

"What do you imagine we'd give you?" the man asked. "Truth drugs? Suppressants? You can go through supplies and administer your own if you'd prefer it. We don't intend to harm you. Don't you think we could have done that already if we'd been so inclined?"

He had a point, so Tarrant accepted the painkiller, and felt his taut muscles relax as the killing pain faded from behind his eyes. "Thank you."

The man smiled. "I would suspect you have many questions. I'll start, shall I? My name is Damon. I'm Jocasta's bodyguard. Jocasta Rye, the woman you've met. This is her ship. She pulled me out of the slave pits on Reyallen ten months ago."

Tarrant winced. The man's condition was suddenly explained. It was a wonder he was in as good a condition as he seemed if that were the case. "You were lucky," Tarrant replied. "I've never heard of anyone coming out of there alive. We talked of raiding it, but the risks--"

"The _Liberator_ might have succeeded," Damon replied. "But it would have been risky."

"Yet one woman did it alone?" Tarrant couldn't hold back the skepticism.

"Women are rare on Reyallen," replied Damon bitterly, something dark touching his eyes. "Besides, Jocasta has a lot of contacts."

"Smugglers?" Tarrant prompted brightly.

"Perhaps." He activated the diagnostic monitor. "We'll allow you up tomorrow. I wish you could remember Caston. There's an abandoned Federation base there. Apparently it wasn't abandoned when you arrived because there are some bodies strewn about near where we found you. I can't guess what was going on there. Some strategic discovery? But if so, why abandon the place?"

"I can't help you," Tarrant replied. "I don't really remember going there. I think--I think we went for a holiday. Vila said something about a--rest cure?" He frowned, trying to cut through the haze that blocked his memory. "It was--because of Deeta, I think."

"Jocasta told me about your brother. I'm sorry." His face was somber. "I lost a brother myself. I know how it feels."

Tarrant nodded slightly. He didn't want to talk about Deeta. These people seemed to know he was from the _Liberator_. Well, if they had any rebel--or Federation--contacts, they might know of the _Liberator_ 's crew. "You're looking for the _Liberator_ ," he prompted. "Why?"

"We're all on the same side," Damon informed him, tipping the chair onto the two back legs and stretching his feet out comfortably before him. Yet he did not look at ease.

"And you want to join us?" asked Tarrant skeptically. "Should anyone believe that, I've a nice, slightly used control base called Star One to sell them."

Damon's face crinkled in amusement. "You'd be wise to trust cautiously, young Tarrant. Tell me about the others? Avon? Vila? Cally? Are they still with you?"

"Are they?" Tarrant asked. "Obviously no one is with me. You found me abandoned on--Caston, was it? You didn't see the _Liberator_ in orbit, did you, or find Avon and Vila when you found me?"

"No, but the fighting had been half a day before we arrived. We got there just as the Federation troops took off. Six ships. We found the entrance to their base and took a brief look around once we got you settled in. It's been cleared out. I don't like the look of it. Something made them settle there. Was it just the _Liberator_ that made them leave? It had the feel of a temporary base. Why were they there? What were they waiting for?"

"Why not ask Orac?" Tarrant replied flippantly.

"It's not as easy as you imagine."

"Oh, and why? Orac reads tarial cells. Send it a message."

He rather liked the idea of sending for Orac, unless he was meant to bait a trap. Surely Avon would come prepared for trouble. Tarrant thought he could contact Orac eventually, but it might take time. The super computer could hardly scan every computer transmission in the galaxy. It might get round to Tarrant's message eventually, but there was no guarantee it would happen in the immediate future.

Damon leaned forward, the two front legs of the chair hard against the floor. "If I thought it would help, I might do just that."

"Don't you?" Tarrant narrowed his eyes. "It just might. Not that you can get Avon to take risks with the ship."

Damon's face darkened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "No, I should imagine not. Were it my ship..." his voice trailed off. "Were it my ship, I'd take good care of it, too."

The door swung open and Jocasta Rye walked in. For a long, concerned minute her eyes rested on the man she had saved from Reyallen then she turned to Tarrant. "Awake again? Good. We have some questions."

"I'm bored with questions," he replied. "I have no way of knowing you're not Federation and didn't capture me on Caston in order to get at the _Liberator_."

Something wistful shone unguarded in her eyes for a moment. "I'm a pilot, Tarrant," she said. "I'd love to get at the _Liberator_. But that's not entirely why we rescued you."

"Just a pair of do-gooders, is that it?"

"He more than me," she conceded. "We are trying to reach the _Liberator_ , though."

"Why? So you can join the crew? Why should you be selected? What great advantage can you offer that would make Avon agree to take you on? Some esoteric knowledge? Some particular skill?" He had learned sarcasm well from Avon.

"He might accept us," Damon replied. "But I want to know why he left you behind."

"That's obvious, Damon," Jocasta said. "Look how well concealed he was. If he hadn't moaned, we'd never have found him. His bracelet was broken. They must have thought he went into the lava. There were Federation troops and Tarrant was 'dead'. They ran."

Damon nodded, and Tarrant relaxed a little. At least that sounded like he hadn't been abandoned. If these people recognized him, they'd have recognized the others, surely. They'd have noticed it Vila had been lying dead nearby. Vila? A fuzzy memory stirred. "I was with Vila," he recalled haltingly. "A trooper...attacked him and I fought him off. We--fell." The color drained from his face as the memory of that fall sent his adrenalin pumping. lt had been mere luck that their struggle had flung him onto a ledge and the trooper into the lava. He couldn't recall hitting the ledge, but he remembered the fall. He shivered.

Damon patted his shoulder soothingly. "Easy, now," he said. "You're safe and recovering. We'll find your crewmates and get you back to them."

Tarrant resisted the implied comfort. "And be rewarded for your 'good deed?'" he asked suspiciously, "by being asked to join the crew? You hardly look like rebels."

"Oh, now, what does a rebel look like, Tarrant? You look like a fine young Federation officer. That's what you were, once, wasn't it? It you can claim to be a rebel, why not I? I was at Reyallen. That would turn a Federation commissioner into a rebel." The bitterness in the older man's eyes was convincing enough.

Tarrant believed it, but he still wasn't entirely convinced about these two. Lying back, he closed his eyes. He knew what Avon would do; tell them nothing and wait for an opportunity to escape. Tarrant wasn't well enough to get up yet, but in a day or so, he'd feel better. He would wait and see. By then he'd have a better idea about these two. Something about Damon made Tarrant want to trust him, but he held back. If he made a mistake, he'd never get home to the _Liberator_.

"We'll let you rest now," Jocasta said. "Come on, Damon." Tarrant opened his eyes to watch her urging the big man from the chair. "You can't do everything all at once," she told him, "though I know you try." Casting a wary look at Tarrant, she said shortly, "We have the same problem you do. We don't know if we can trust _you_."

Leaving Tarrant to ponder the implications of that, she led the way out. Damon gave Tarrant a friendly smile before pulling the door to behind him.

*** *** ***

Vila sat gloomily on the flight deck and stared at the bizarre planet that hung before him on the main screen. Terminal. A nasty name for a nasty planet. Meant the end, didn't it? The end of what? Hopefully not the end of Vila Restal.

In spite of their detour around the liquid particles, they had arrived here in accordance with Avon's precious time schedule. No sooner had they arrived when Avon announced that he would explain if they would come to the teleport. His explanation proved quite high-handed, just that he was going down alone and would report in each hour. If he didn't report in, they were to leave and go on running. When they pressed him, offering him support Vila wasn't sure he deserved--the gun still rankled--Avon had squashed their trust and threatened to kill anyone who followed him. Then he had teleported down.

"Vila, shift the input coordinates half a point," Cally told him, taking up a bracelet and fastening it round her wrist. "I'm going down after him."

"But he said he'd kill you if he saw you, Cally," Vila reminded her unhappily, wishing for Tarrant. At least Tarrant had been able to hold his own against Avon--most of the time. Yet the thief couldn't quite imagine Avon shooting Cally.

"Then I must be careful he doesn't see me," she replied.

"I'll come too," Dayna replied. "I don't like this. I think it's a trap."

"It feels that way," Cally agreed.

"Avon told us to run," realized Vila. "He thinks it might be a trap too. Maybe we should run."

"And leave Avon behind"?" Dayna sounded shocked. She slid her hand into her bracelet and took out a gun. "Put us down, Vila."

"lf you insist. You do insist, don't you?" He busied himself changing the coordinates, then sent them down and got their confirmation.

Since then, nothing. Avon had reported in after an hour, and Cally had called to describe some nasty creatures down there. Hairy aliens. Vila should have known. He hoped they wouldn't get hold of teleport bracelets and come up after him.

Leaving Orac to mind the teleport, Vila wandered back to the flight deck to question Zen about ships in the vicinity and other threats to his peace and well-being. When he strolled onto the flight deck, Zen said promptly, +Information.+

"What is it, Zen? Federation pursuit ships? Alien invasions? Suspicious natives?"

+Analysis has been completed upon the cloud of fluid particles which the _Liberator_ avoided on the way to the planet Terminal.+

"Oh yes?" Vila replied. "Give me the results then? Was it dangerous?"

+The fluid would have destroyed this vessel, had the course passed through it.+

Vila gulped uneasily. "Destroyed the _Liberator_?" he echoed uneasily.

+The fluid would have eaten away at the surface of the vessel, requiring an increasingly heavy drain upon the auto repair systems. Eventually the damage would have been so great that compensation would have been impossible. That area of space has been recorded in this unit's memory banks and will be avoided in future.+

In other words, Zen would get snooty about it and refuse to involve himself with that particular area again, the way he'd behaved when they wanted to rush through the short way when Gan's limiter had malfunctioned. Vila nodded wisely. "Oh yes. I should have known as much. I'll tell Avon when he gets back. He'll have to admit, for once, that I was right." He grinned brightly, then, remembering Avon's hostile departure, his face fell. For all he knew, Avon wasn't coming back, and if he did, he might not care that Vila had been right. Vila heaved a vast sigh. It seemed like a long time ago that he and Avon had been friends.

Suddenly a signal came through and Vila jumped. " _Liberator_ , this is Avon. Do you read?"

"Avon?" echoed Vila, somehow surprised to hear from him. "Where are you?"

"No questions. Just do as I tell you and do it immediately." His voice suddenly sharpened. "Take the _Liberator_ out of here maximum speed. Go and keep going!"

In the background, he heard a protest in an unfortunately familiar voice. "No!" Servalan.

"It's important, Vila, do it now!" Avon cried, followed by Servalan's shout, "You fool! and a gasp of pain from Avon.

"Avon!" Vila burst out, horrified. It was as bad as he'd expected all along. Servalan was there, and she had Avon, and maybe the others too. Vila suddenly felt very much alone. "Avon?" he cried again. There was no answer.

*** *** ***

Dayna cursed herself for not being careful enough and the people who had surprised her and Cally for coming up behind them so silently that she and the Auron had been caught unawares. Now they were being led down a corridor, presumably to meet these people's superiors, and Dayna had a sudden premonition just exactly who that would be. This whole thing reeked of Servalan. Whatever had lured Avon here, probably something to do with Blake, though no one had mentioned that possibility to him, had required a knowledge of both men, and a great deal of technological skill to convince Avon it might be genuine. Dayna rather doubted he'd believed it wholeheartedly, else why the elaborate plans to keep the others out of it and the instructions to get away it he lost contact. Either he meant to dump them and go away with Blake, something Dayna couldn't quite believe, or he meant to limit the risk and keep the _Liberator_ out of the President's hands.

She and Cally were ushered into a room at gunpoint. "Servalan," the woman announced.

The President of the Terran Federation looked up from Avon, who lay supine on the floor, evidently dazed. When she saw them, she smiled brightly. "I think negotiations have just been reopened," she declared.

Dayna didn't like the sound of that.

It became worse. Servalan explained it to them quickly. They were to turn the _Liberator_ over to her. "I have Blake, you see," she replied, smiling as her guards went to Avon, to haul him to his feet. "He is yours in exchange for the _Liberator_. Avon thought to thwart me, but, as you see, he failed. You will contact the ship now and arrange for Vila to teleport me and my people on board. Avon informs me that you have been clumsy enough to lose Tarrant. A pity." She smiled and Dayna had to bite her tongue to hold back her fury. "You will call Vila," Servalan informed her. "If you do not do it, I shall kill Cally and then Avon."

Dayna took the communicator with some reluctance as Avon was shoved into a chair. He looked a little shaky, but he was awake and alert, and his expression was threatening. "Prepare to bring Servalan up," she said furiously.

"No!" Avon came up off the bench in a hurry and the guard grabbed his shoulder and dragged him back.

"We've lost this time," Dayna told him.

"What else can we do," Cally replied. "You are the practical one, Avon. There is nothing left."

"Get their bracelets," Servalan ordered. "Move them over there."

When they had been lined up against the wall--rather like targets in a shooting gallery--Servalan went on. "That concludes our business."

"You said there's a ship that will take us off this planet," Cally reminded her, and Dayna realized that Cally doubted it. Servalan had never been noted for keeping her word.

"Perhaps I've exaggerated just a little. You see, she was rather badly damaged when we made our landing. But I think with some months work she could be made spaceworthy, just about."

"What about Blake?" Avon asked abruptly. Something in his voice made Dayna look at him uneasily. She had a feeling this was going to be bad.

"Ah yes. Blake." Servalan walked up to Avon, never taking her eyes from him. "I owe him so much, for it was he who brought you to me."

"We made a deal," Avon insisted fiercely, almost desperately. "You promised me Blake."

"Blake is dead."

Avon stared at her in stunned disbelief, his mouth falling open. He seemed incapable of speech. "He died from his wounds on the planet Jevron more than a year ago," Servalan elaborated. "I saw his body. I saw it cremated. Blake is dead."

The repetition stabbed at Avon. Pain filled his eyes, and Dayna felt a whole new rage at Servalan. When she finally killed this woman it would no longer be entirely for her father but for Avon and for this moment.

"I saw him," Avon insisted. "I spoke to him." His voice nearly broke. "He--"

"You saw nothing. Heard nothing. It was an illusion, a drug induced and electronic dream. We spent months preparing it. We recreated Blake inside our computers; images, memories, a million fragmented facts. When I was ready, I started sending you the messages." Avon seemed unable to turn away. "Seeding the idea in your mind. I was conditioning you. And you were my greatest ally, Avon. You made it easy because you wanted to believe it. You wanted to believe that Blake was still alive."

Avon started forward as if to attack her and Cally said quickly, "Leave it, Avon." Perhaps she reinforced it with a telepathic message, for he stilled, standing there like a tragic statue.

Servalan went on to talk about the purpose of the creation of Terminal, talking about the primitive creatures she and Cally had encountered, finally announcing, "The creature you saw is not what man developed from. It is what man will become." She turned away and joined her people. "I think I'm ready. Give the order. Please."

Dayna grimaced at the last word. "Bring them up, Vila," she ordered.

Servalan turned to Avon. "We won't meet again." she announced, almost with regret. "Goodbye."

Expressionless, Avon watched her as the teleport took her. Dayna suspected that if he could have got away with it, he would have killed her.

When she was gone, the three of them stood there without speaking. Dayna and Cally exchanged doubtful looks before turning to Avon. His plan was clear now, to find Blake. Whatever he had intended for the rest of them no longer mattered, for Servalan now possessed _Liberator_. Dayna had no confidence in the wreckage of the ship that Servalan had left them. It was bound to fall apart the moment they tried to use it, perhaps even before. She had probably booby trapped it, enjoying the thought of smothering their frantic hope, though she wouldn't witness it.

Dayna turned to the screen that held the image of the _Liberator_ , unable to believe it was all ended. Surely there must be something to do. She wouldn't give up as easily as this. Accepting her fate passively had never been her way.

Vila materialized before them, holding Orac in his hands. "That was nasty," he announced brightly. His eyes sought out Avon and rested on him with a combination of resentment and concern. Dayna had held the circuit open as Servalan spoke, hoping it could help somehow, but she had no idea what good Vila could do. She was amazed that he had managed to bring Orac with him. How long would it take Servalan to notice its absence and send people down after it?

"They'll come for Orac," she burst out. "We'd better arm ourselves and take cover."

"Not necessary," said Vila brightly, preening himself. "Orac's controlling the ship. It can't leave orbit until I give the command to release it. The defense screen on the flight deck will take care of them, most of them, anyway. Knowing Servalan, she's too nasty to fall for it, but at least we'll be rid of the others." He pulled teleport bracelets out of his pocket like a conjurer producing rabbits from a hat. "Better put these on."

With amazement and unaccustomed respect, Dayna and Cally snatched them, knowing Orac could teleport them as well from down here. But Avon only stood there, his face blank and miserable. Vila sighed, set Orac on a table, and went to Avon, holding out his bracelet. When Avon didn't take it, the thief snorted in exasperation and fastened it round the other man's wrist.

Shocked out of his preoccupation, Avon favored Vila with a look of affront. His eyes traveled from the thief who stood there expectantly to his wrist and then past Vila to Orac, where it sat in splendor on the table. "It would appear you have had an intelligence transplant, Vila," he remarked. "Or was this Orac's Idea."

"Orac's idea!" huffed Vila. "It was all my idea. I knew we were in trouble when you called in."

"I ordered you out of here. Servalan wouldn't have the _Liberator_ if you had followed my instructions, Vila."

"She _doesn't_ have it. Don't you ever listen? Right now her people are falling victim to Zen's defenses. She's probably running. We can expect her back here at any moment.

"Avon brushed past the thief and inserted Orac's key. "Is he correct, Orac? Report conditions on the _Liberator_."

+Very well. At present, Servalan's people have been eliminated. Servalan has fled the flight deck. Do you require her present location?+

"Yes, I do require her present location," Avon ground out fiercely.

+She is in the teleport section.+

"Should we teleport her into deep space?" Dayna asked eagerly.

+She has attempted to operate the teleport,+ Orac reported. +It will not operate. What are your Instructions?+

"Bring her back here," Cally urged. "We will deal with her."

Avon nodded, his face cold. "Yes, bring her here, Orac. She will be armed. I suggest we withdraw from this room."

"Or we can shoot her the moment she materializes," volunteered Dayna eagerly.

"Wait." Avon put up a hand to stop them. "Before she comes back here, I intend to search this base."

"Servalan told the truth, Avon," Cally told him gently. "About the programming, at any rate. Dayna and I saw equipment that might well do what she described whilst we searched for you."

"That doesn't mean Blake's dead, though," Vila put in carefully.

"She admitted lying once," Avon replied. "I do not intend to take the chance that she lied twice. I will search this base. I remember where I went. Dayna, come with me." He stalked off without looking back and Dayna had to run to keep up with him.

But Avon searched in vain. He started off purposefully, only to pause, frowning, as the layout of the base diverged from his 'electronic dream. After a few half-starts, he retraced his path to the room where the programming had been done and inspected the equipment at some length. Dayna stayed near him but held her tongue. Finally, he made an impatient gesture and tried to collect his scattered wits. She watched the vulnerability erase itself from his face and finally vanish as if it had never appeared. Without a word, he stalked toward the control room.

Dayna watched his back all the way there. She meant to be ready if he decided it was time for Servalan to die.

Orac teleported the President of the Terran Federation back to the room she had left so triumphantly. Her face was pale and furious, glaring at the _Liberator_ crew with loathing. When she spotted Orac, she remarked, "You had already brought Orac down here."

"No, Servalan," Avon replied in an toneless voice. "Vila brought it down right under your nose. He also provided us with these." He displayed a teleport bracelet. "Your mistake, Madame President. You cannot afford to overlook the pawns in any game."

"Here now," Vila began as to object to being called a pawn. When Servalan and Avon both looked at him, he shrank into his seat and shook his head as if to say, 'never mind.'

"It was also Vila who instructed Orac to restrict the ship's movements," Avon went on. He seemed to enjoy her discomfiture at the thought of being bested in her elaborate and near-perfect scheme by none other than Vila Restal. "Zen, however, dealt with your personnel."

"What was that thing?" she asked, obviously shaken. "It drew them in. It tried to draw me in, showing me an image of--" She broke off shortly. "Ah yes. I remember now, the report from Captain Leylan of the London. It killed several of his crew, yet you and Blake and Jenna resisted it. As I did." She studied Avon. "A pity you are not my prisoner. I should like to learn what it was that enabled you to defeat it. Perhaps your natural cynicism..."

Avon didn't bother to enlighten her. Dayna remembered her own arrival on the _Liberator_ , wondering why the defense system hadn't taken out that Federation squad that had boarded when Tarrant did, or why it hadn't stopped Tarrant. Perhaps with all the systems shut down for repairs, the ones needed to repel the boarders had not yet been back on line.

"That need not concern you, Servalan," Avon replied. "You will be remaining here. I shall ask Orac to immobilize any long-range communications. If the ship you left for us is repairable, then you may one day leave this place. If not, you will enjoy the fate you intended for us." He bared his teeth at her in what might pass for a smile, were a blind man judging it. "Orac," he said, pulling the teleport bracelet roughly from Servalan's wrist, "Operate the teleport. Vila, bring Orac."

"'Vila, bring Orac,'" the thief mimicked. "l should have known it was too good to be true. He should have been saying, 'Well done, Vila. You're a hero, Vila. You saved all our lives, Vila.' But no. It's, 'Bring Orac, Vila. Do this, Vila. Do that, Vila.' Who was your slave last week?" But he scooped up the computer.

Orac set the teleport controls and moments later, they were safe aboard the _Liberator_. It only remained to rid themselves of the bodies of Servalan's people.

Avoiding their eyes, Avon pushed past them and stalked off without pausing when Cally called his name gently.

Vila deposited Orac on the counter. "I don't like it, Cally," he said. "Do you think Blake's really dead?"

"I do not know, Vila," she replied sadly. "But Avon believes it."

"Why would he believe her when she'd already lied to him once?" Dayna argued.

"Because he'd be afraid to hope she was wrong," Vila explained. Then, catching himself, he added, "But what do I know?"

"More than you think, Vila," Cally replied. "If Avon will not say it, I will. You _were_ a hero. But," she chided, "Do not expect me to say it more than once. I would not like to spoil you."

" _I'd_ like you to spoil me," Vila disagreed. But his voice lacked its usual spirit. He sighed. "Do you think we'll ever be able to trust him again?"

"I trust him," Dayna replied. "He went out of his way to protect us, Vila. "

"He'd have done better to ask our help. Anyone could have told him it was unlikely. I mean, I ask you. Blake telling Avon he had something to make him wealthy and powerful? If Blake found some treasure, he'd do like he did with the money in the strong room. He'd save it in hopes of using it for his Cause one day. He wouldn't use it as bait for Avon. The real Blake would know Avon could see past that kind of a lie."

"It might be the kind of lie that Blake _would_ use," Cally disagreed. "It would give Avon an excuse for seeking Blake. He would not want us to think he did it for sentiment."

"He did it because he wants Blake back," Dayna burst out. "I've never seen him look so stricken. We've got to know, Cally. We've got to find Blake."

"Then I suggest we go to the planet Jevron," she replied. "If Blake was, in truth, killed there, we might find records."

"Orac can check for records, and he can do that from here." Vila turned to Orac, rather flown with his success so far. "Orac, I have work for you."

+You have had too much work for me already,+ Orac replied in an irritated voice.

"But you'll do it, won't you, Orac," Dayna replied, leaning closer and stroking Orac's casing with the barrel of her gun.

+State your requirements.+ Vila leaned forward and began to talk.

*** *** ***

Tarrant sat bolt upright in the darkness, jerked from sleep by the hoarse cries that echoed eerily through the room. After a momentary disorientation, he got his bearings. He was on Jocasta Rye's ship, separated from the _Liberator_ and his crewmates, recovering from the injuries he had sustained on Caston. But those screams sounded like someone had failed to recover from something far worse. Struggling uneasily to his feet, Tarrant fought momentary dizziness, then he frankly ran.

The ship was small, its living quarters in the same passage as the medical unit. The shouting came from the cabin next door. Pushing open the door, Tarrant paused in the doorway as light from the corridor filtered past him to reveal Damon, caught in the throes of a nightmare.

Tarrant didn't know what he thought of Damon, but no one should face this kind of torment alone. He approached the older man cautiously and put a gentle hand on his bare shoulder. Even in the darkness he could see the wicked tracery of scars that covered Damon's back.

At the touch, Damon flinched as if he'd been struck, then he sat up and grabbed Tarrant, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the pilot's shoulder. "I knew you'd come," he babbled, obviously still trapped in his nightmare. "I waited...years, it was years. I thought you'd never come. Why? Why did it take you so long, Avon?"

Tarrant started in stunned reaction, seeking a better look at Damon's face, but when he tried to ease free, the other man tightened his grip like a limpet, putting Tarrant's ribs in jeopardy. Damon was searching for Avon? He had expected Avon at Reyallen, convinced he would be rescued. But only one man would take Avon to a place like Reyallen, and Avon had never picked up a report that placed Blake there. He had waited for Avon in vain.

The door swung wider as Jocasta arrived, freezing when she saw Tarrant before her: She shook her head hastily when Tarrant would have spoken. "Play along," she urged under her breath. "He has bad dreams sometimes."

 _Play along_? Tarrant frowned. "Well now," he said cautiously to the man who clutched at him, "It was rather difficult to ascertain your location. But I'm here now."

When he spoke, Damon relaxed. His arms eased their stranglehold and he leaned comfortably against Tarrant. "Knew you'd come..." he murmured contentedly. "Knew you'd come."

Jocasta sat on the edge of the bed and began to stroke her companion's hair. "It's all right, Blake," she said soothingly. "It's just another dream. Just a dream. You're not on Reyallen now. I came for you. Remember I came for you."

Damon--Blake--reacted to her tone and when she took his shoulders and eased him flat again, he didn't struggle. His hand clasped Tarrant's arm. "Don't go away, Avon," he insisted.

"I'm right here." Tarrant hated encouraging the man, but what else could he do?

He waited uncomfortably until Blake's grip loosened and he relaxed into peaceful sleep, then, reacting to a gesture from the woman, Tarrant followed her into the corridor.

"Do you think that was wise, Jenna?" he asked when the door was shut behind them.

"I knew you'd recognize us eventually," she admitted. "But we couldn't trust you. All we had to go on was the bracelet and the fact that we thought you were Tarrant. We knew there was a Tarrant with Avon, but that's all. Blake's been looking for Avon for a long time, ever since I got him off Reyallen."

"And he blames Avon for not coming for him," Tarrant said positively, surprised to find himself prepared to defend Avon.

"In part. Avon never knew where he was--or else he didn't care," she added hotly.

"He cared--as much as anyone can tell with Avon. We were always pursuing some lead. It only needed a hint that Blake had been somewhere before we were off again. Avon took risks for Blake he wouldn't take for himself."

"Tell Blake that. It might help. I don't think he really believes Avon deliberately didn't come for him, but those dreams are bad. You didn't see him when I got him off that planet. He'd lost nearly fifteen kilos. They'd shaved his head, and I don't know if you saw his back just now? And that doesn't even touch on the way the other prisoners treated him."

Tarrant nodded. The scars were extensive. It made him sick. "How did you get him free?" he asked. "With the help of every smuggling contact I could recruit," she said. "And more than a few favors called in. Servalan put him there. She took him on the planet Jevron. I saw her but I'd come too late to stop her. It wouldn't help Blake if I were caught too. I had to stay free to get him out of that hell." She shuddered. "Someday I mean to kill that woman."

"I just might help you," Tarrant replied. "She caused my brother's death, she killed Dayna's father in cold blood. She destroyed Cally's people. And now this. Does she know he's free?"

"I doubt it. Are you familiar with the setup on Reyallen? The whole planet is the prison. People like Blake start out with what they call 'special treatment.' They get regular beatings to knock down their resistance. When the guards believe the prisoner is broken, he's dumped in a rugged area and forgotten. If the other prisoners don't kill him, the living conditions do. Cygnus Alpha was a rest cure by comparison." She smiled bitterly. "The only thing that pleases me is that she can't know Blake is free. We've tried to keep a low profile since his rescue, looking for the _Liberator_. Blake had a special code to contact Orac, but there's been no response. Sometimes we wondered if Avon might have erased it."

Tarrant considered that. "I can't imagine him wiping it. He'd have expected Blake to have his bracelet at first. I think we sometimes expect too much from Orac. Besides, Servalan had her hands on the ship--and Orac--briefly. I wouldn't put it past her to tell Orac to ignore any messages from Blake. It was never that we didn't look."

Jenna nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Will he be all right?" asked Tarrant, gesturing in the direction of Blake's cabin.

"I hope so. He dreams every few weeks. Finding you and being reminded of Avon and the ship must have triggered this one. Returning to the _Liberator_ and talking to Avon should help." She made an impatient gesture. "What about you? Do you have a code for Orac?"

"No." He grimaced ruefully. "But we can work something out."

"Then get some sleep," she urged. "You're not too steady, yet. I'd as soon not pick you up and put you to bed." She sounded brisk, but the distrust had gone from her voice.

Tarrant grinned, realizing he had acquired an ally. "Should we just leave him?"

"He's never had more than one dream a night," she replied. "Go to bed. If I need you, I'll wake you. Once you're well, you'll be taking a watch, so you may as well enjoy your rest while it lasts."

*** *** ***

The flight deck seemed grim and unsettled when Cally arrived the 'morning' after their debacle on Terminal. The artificial planet had been left behind, their course get for Jevron, and Dayna had taken the late watch. When Cally arrived, Vila was alone, having relieved Dayna several hours earlier. He was doing nothing at all, sitting on the horseshoe-shaped couch glaring at the main screen as if it had offended him, his shoulders slumped. He looked tired and dispirited, and Cally felt for him.

When he heard her, he looked up cautiously, then relaxed. "Cally," he greeted. "Are we still on course for Jevron?"

"Avon came in an hour ago," Vila replied. "He asked Zen for the course and speed, and Zen told him. I thought maybe I should hide, but Avon didn't seem to notice me. When Zen mentioned Jevron, he went all quiet and sort of pale, then he nodded and walked out again. He didn't even say hello. Mind you, I'm glad of that. I don't think he was feeling very friendly."

"Servalan delighted in telling him Blake was dead, Vila," Cally told him.

"I heard. Dayna kept the link open. I'm glad we stranded her there, Cally." He shot her a worried look. "You don't think she'll get away, do you? She'll be furious with me. I never wanted her to notice me before. Bad enough having to face her on Sardos when she wasn't particularly upset with me. Now she'll be hot for my blood."

"She will not feel charitable toward any of us. But I suspect she will be there a long time. I could sense her great alarm at being stranded. I suspect the base was booby trapped."

"Good," said Vila. "Stay in the base and blow up, leave and face those links you mentioned. Serves her right." He was silent a moment, then he said tentatively, "Do you think...Blake's really dead?"

"I do not feel him dead, Vila. But Avon would never accept that. Blake was my companion for two years. I share his belief in the Cause. I do not think that he could die and I not feel it."

"Avon won't buy that," Vila agreed. "Not for a minute. He'll demand proof. I wonder if Orac's picked up anything from Jevron yet."

Cally slid the computer's activator into place. "Orac, report on your investigation of the planet Jevron. Is there any indication that Blake was ever there?"

+Kindly wait. I am conducting investigations. It will take time.+

"Oh, well, forgive me, Orac," Cally said, a slightly mischievous tone in her voice. "Perhaps we expect too much of you." Vila shared a delighted grin with her.

+I will notify you when my investigation is complete,+ returned Orac tartly, every evidence of annoyance in his voice. Sometimes the little computer seemed remarkably human.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Vila muttered, turning away. "It's bad enough about Tarrant. Not Blake too."

"It has been a bad year, Vila. But I do not believe Blake is dead." She hoped her belief would last past Orac's investigation. She didn't know how she could face Avon if Blake was really dead.

*** *** ***

 _Damn Servalan_. Avon turned over restlessly, though sleep continued to elude him. _Damn Servalan. And damn Blake_.

He sat up abruptly, his eyes wide. Abandoning the idea of sleep, he drew his feet up under him and leaned back against the wall. He wasn't seeing his cabin but Blake, connected to life support equipment, a strangely unfamiliar, bearded Blake, talking to him just as he always had. 'Your sentiment is showing.' Avon could hear him now. Servalan had created her illusion perfectly. He should have killed the woman whilst he had the chance. She was far too dangerous to be left at liberty, even in that place.

Her Blake had been so real. Avon shuddered at his remembered reaction to him--to it. Relief had filled him as he feasted his eyes upon Blake. He had sought the man for over a year, never abandoning the search, even when it was evident it could only be a trap. Of course he had given Blake his word to take him back to Earth after Star One. But the Andromedan war had altered things, and after a time, Avon had realized his search for Blake was not just to keep his word but to get Blake back. The _Liberator_ was no longer Blake's ship, and Avon had no intention of returning it to the rebel leader, but neither did he abandon the search for him. Ownership could be worked out once Blake was safe. Servalan's image had claimed his sentiment was showing. Was it true? Had sentiment motivated him this past year? Had he lost so much control of himself that he had sought Blake for sentiment?

Or was it his belief that his death and Blake's were linked somehow. Perhaps, even, that their lives were linked. He didn't want to admit that, for it would be to admit a need. Perhaps he had sought Blake to disprove it, to give himself the luxury of finding Blake and proving how little Blake meant to him. He had deluded himself with that comfortable illusion for some months now.

But that illusion had shattered painfully on Terminal. 'Blake is dead.' If Blake didn't matter to him, why had he felt such pain, such a hollow emptiness at her words? If he did not need Blake, why had it hurt so much to hear that Blake was dead?

He muttered a savage curse. Caring. It always led to pain. By this time he should have known that. He should have learned it thoroughly and conclusively when he held Anna's body in that cellar on Earth, when he took off his bracelet and left himself to Servalan's mercy, knowing she had none, knowing she would kill him.

But she hadn't killed him: he'd survived. For this? Cally felt Servalan might have lied, as she had lied before. She was a deceiver, and he would never trust her. But in the year since the Andromedan War, there had been no real trace of Blake. Nearly every rumor of Blake had proven nothing more than that, a rumor. Most of them had been planted by Servalan herself, conditioning him, as she had admitted, preparing him for her final scheme. In all that time, he had encountered no valid proof that Blake still lived. Blake was not the type to maintain a low profile. lf he lived, he would be out there blowing things up, fighting the Federation for all he was worth. If there was no word of Blake, no reports of lightning raids, no stories of daring rescues and heroic and foolhardy schemes, did it mean that Blake was quietly daring the Federation? Or, more logically, did it mean he was dead?

Avon pounded a fist against his bed. Dead. Blake was dead. It was finally over. He'd been granted his wish after all, to be free of Blake. He had wanted it over and he had said so, loudly and to the point, on the way to Star One.

A long time ago, someone had cautioned about asking for something because one might get it. Avon had asked to be free of Blake. Now, like Anna, Blake was gone, but Avon was no more free of him than he had ever been of Anna. She had never let him go and neither had Blake. Odd that Anna seemed less important now. Anna had always been false. Blake had never betrayed Avon. But Avon had wanted free of him none the less--free of him because Blake touched him in ways no one had before, not even Anna, free of him because he feared the commitment Blake demanded from him. Damn him. What right had he to exert such pull over Avon? What foolishness had made Avon permit it?

The others had set a course for Jevron. No doubt they hoped to prove Servalan lied. But no matter if she had. Blake was dead. Blake would have come back by now if he had lived. Blake would not have turned his back on Avon. If he had, he was not worth the commitment he'd demanded from Avon and Avon had no intention of following him.

 _Damn you, Blake_ , he thought once more. _You never let me go. But I will let you go. Leave me alone, Blake_.

It was time to make some harsh decisions. He didn't need Blake. He didn't need the others. Tarrant was gone now. The ship had no pilot. Perhaps he should take _Liberator_ and leave the Federation behind. He would allow the others to investigate Jevron simply to have it ended, then he would give them a choice. They could come with him if they chose--and he hoped they would not choose--or he would put them down on a neutral planet and take the _Liberator_ far beyond the Federation's authority. He would be rich and powerful and safe. No one would ever touch him again. Not Blake. Not Tarrant. Not even Cally, Vila or Dayna. He would not permit himself to need anyone ever again.

He got up and dressed, then he went to the flight deck.

Cally and Vila were there when he arrived, talking quietly. As he approached, they looked up uneasily, and he saw carefully suppressed worry flash in their eyes. He did not need their concern. He needed nothing from them.

"Orac still doesn't have much information from Jevron," volunteered Vila. Avon favored him with a glare. Once the thief might have flinched before it, and he did now, but it seemed from force of habit. Perhaps his success at Terminal--his success when Avon had clearly failed--had given him strength. Squashing down a flash of curiosity at this new, stronger Vila, Avon glared at him.

"Surely it can do better than that," he said ominously and started toward the computer.

"It's not Orac's fault if Servalan had records erased," Vila persisted. "The only thing that sounds likely is an arrest report. The prisoner is not identified, but the description matches Blake."

Avon stared at Vila as he might have stared at a beetle in his path. "Continue," he barked.

"It sounds like Servalan was on Jevron at the appropriate time, Avon," Vila persisted, shooting a glance at Cally as if for help.

"We have found records of her presence there," Cally added. "Orac says she spent a week there, fairly soon after the Andromedan War. She did a tour of the Inner and Outer Worlds, making a show of strength to convince the various planets that everything was well."

"When, in fact, the fleet was decimated and Federation strength was at an all time low," Avon replied. "Of course the resistance wasted the time they might have gained by in-fighting. Blake--Blake might have united them, but he was never so practical. Or," he added flatly, "he was dead."

"We don't know that," Vila insisted. "Servalan arrested someone on Jevron. She did it personally. The local records were obviously tampered with."

"And the prisoner was executed?" Avon asked. He discovered with some annoyance that he was holding his breath.

"No," said Cally. "At least not on Jevron. Servalan took the prisoner away with her--alive."

That was unexpected. But it was like Servalan to dish up a mixture of truth and lies. She would use the truth when most effective, and when it did not serve her, deceit worked as well. Abandoning her on Terminal was far too good for her.

"We've traced her route after that," Vila plunged on. "The prisoner wasn't mentioned again. But two planets later, Servalan went to Reyallen."

Reyallen? Avon froze, sucking in his breath sharply. Yes! When he had first met Blake on the London, Avon had been surprised that Blake was intended for Cygnus Alpha and not Reyallen. Cygnus was a run of the mill penal planet, but Reyallen was far more. A Federation base on the planet protected it from raids from space, and Federation torturers and programmers and even a puppeteer or two saw that the prisoners' spirits were broken. The prisoners on Cygnus Alpha had formed their own colony, recruiting newcomers as followers. It was a harsh life, but compared to Reyallen, it was a paradise. No one left Reyallen, and no one who went there remained unchanged. The prisoners were not killed out of hand, but most of them must have wished for death.

If Servalan had incarcerated Blake on Reyallen, she would have been free to pursue her scheme to acquire the _Liberator_ unhindered. Blake was gone for good, and she had never considered Avon a political threat. A threat, yes, but not a rebel threat. His death would satisfy her, even his exile on Terminal would satisfy her. She would have the _Liberator_ , Blake would be out of her way forever, the political threat gone. That she might consider Avon a personal threat was a given, but she had meant to defuse that threat on Terminal when she took the ship. Her plan had been flawless. Or it would have been flawless had she considered Vila Restal in the scheme of things.

Vila had come to Terminal suspicious of Avon. Overhearing Avon's initial reaction to the false message, he had chosen to take it personally, tying it to his near death on Caston. Probably Tarrant's death as a result of Orac's involvement with the false message made Vila suspicious. Avon had not taken that into consideration, and Servalan had known no more than that Tarrant was dead. She could not have prepared for that unlikely chain of events. Secure in her knowledge that the real Blake could not interfere, she had run her scheme. Avon's only consolation was that it had failed.

"Zen," said Avon flatly, "Prepare to accept a course change."

+Confirmed.+

"Avon, what are you doing?" Vila asked uneasily, jumping to his feet. "You can't mean to go to Reyallen."

Avon stared him down. "I can go wherever I choose, Vila. This is _my_ ship. Zen, set a course for the penal planet Reyallen, speed standard by four. Confirm with arrival time."

+ _Liberator_ will arrive at the penal planet Reyallen in 107.4 hours.+

"But it's a deathtrap," Vila babbled. "No one's ever escaped from there."

"No one has attempted it with the _Liberator_ ," Avon reminded him, then turned to insert Orac's key. "Orac, I have a task for you. I want you to tap the files on Reyallen. We are en route there now. By the time we arrive, I will expect you to have ascertained Roj Blake's approximate location. I have no intention of making a kilometer by kilometer search of the planet. We go in, find him, and teleport out again. Until you have located Blake, you will concentrate on nothing else, is that understood?"

+Reyallen's survival rate is not high, Avon,+ Orac returned. +There is no guarantee that any prisoner could survive there for a year.+

"Then find out," Avon ordered furiously. "And do it quickly." He yanked the key as if it had offended him and barely resisted flinging it across the flight deck.

"But, Avon," Vila persisted, jogging his arm. "We--don't have a pilot now. I don't think it's safe." He realized mentioning Tarrant had been a mistake which he covered with a flurry of talk. "I don't want to go. Pursuit ships will pursue us and people will shoot at us. I don't like it at all. Why can't we ever stay where we're safe?"

"Safe, Vila?" Avon asked coolly. "This from the 'hero' of Terminal. Perhaps I expect too much of you."

Vila stared at him suspiciously. "You're mocking me," he announced. He sounded half hopeful, as if an Avon who mocked him would be better than one who ignored him.

"Remarkably clever of you to notice." Avon meant to sound cutting, but he suspected Vila took him wrong. Delight touched the thief's eyes. Avon opened his mouth to squelch Vila's buoyancy but at the last minute something held him back.

"I _am_ clever, Avon. Just ask anyone. Ask Orac. Ask Zen. Clever Vila, that's what they call me."

"Oh, shut up, Vila." But the ice had begun to melt. Orac's report did not mean Blake lived, but Blake was one of the most stubborn men Avon had ever met. If anyone could survive Reyallen, Blake could. Avon remembered the story Vila had told him about Blake in the Monopasium 239 mine on Horizon, how Blake had waded in and taken charge without hesitation, regulating the other prisoners. Blake was too determined to give up. Of course the torturers would have some say in the matter, but they didn't have much longer to live in any case. Avon smiled with grim satisfaction. Reyallen's tenure as the Federation's worst penal planet would soon end. Once Blake was out of there, the Federation headquarters would meet a very messy fate. Once Blake was out of there...

Avon set his face in a cold mask and glowered at Vila, and at Cally, who had done nothing to deserve it. Once they had dealt with Reyallen, they could go back and destroy the Federation base on Caston. Why was that base there in the first place? Ships had left the planet after _Liberator_ 's departure, but by then Avon had picked up Servalan's signal and had no time to spare for Caston. Now he would make the time.

"What of the rest of us, Avon?" Cally asked. "You took us to Terminal without explanations. You gave us no say. I think you know it was wrong to do so."

"Very well, Cally," he ground out. "According to Orac, Blake may be on Reyallen. It seems a better chance than the one we--I--bungled at Terminal. I will go alone if I must, but Blake stands a better chance if we go together."

"I, too, wish to rescue Blake," Cally agreed. "Reyallen will be dangerous, but I think it necessary. I will go with you."

He frowned. "Then why did you ask?"

"To remind you of Terminal, Avon. I do not believe, as Servalan did, that you went there simply to seek whatever it was that 'Blake' claimed he had discovered. You may insist that is true, and you may have deceived Servalan, but there is nothing on Reyallen to offer you wealth and power. We are a team, Avon. I know you have never been a team player, but please remember that we support you anyway."

"It is a support for which I have never sought and never wanted."

"But you have it," she persisted. "It was teamwork which brought us away from Terminal and it is teamwork which will give us Blake. To put it simply, Blake stands a better chance with all of us working together. Surely that is even pragmatic enough for you."

He regarded her with some irritation, though he knew she was right. He found it difficult to function that way, but, this time, he must rely upon the others. He would free Blake, and then decide what to do next. He did not plan it to be joining the resistance and fighting for Blake's Cause.

But if not, why did he recall the first two years on the _Liberator_ with something like pleasure?

Shaking his head in irritation, he said, "We will do as you suggest--this time." Ignoring the smiles that Cally and Vila exchanged, he left the flight deck without looking back.

*** *** ***

Tarrant must have lost at least day and a half unconscious, which made him wonder what the _Liberator_ had been doing in his absence. Another two days spent in the medical unit recovering, a night disturbed by Blake's nightmares, and now, his own ship seemed far away. His hostility to Jenna and Blake had eased: he might not yet be comfortable with them, but he no longer suspected them of some unspoken threat. Yet this was not his place. _Liberator_ was, even if it meant putting up with Vila's whining and Avon's cold arrogance. In fact, Tarrant found himself missing both Avon and Vila--Cally and Dayna went without saying--when he got up the next morning. Feeling considerably better, he dressed and went in search of the flight deck.

The ship was a converted planet hopper--many smuggling ships were--but it was in top condition and whoever had done the modifications had known what he was doing, for they didn't appear to draw power from one place to boost another, thus draining certain points at a critical juncture. Tarrant paused along the way to check various panels and data screens, finally arriving on the flight deck in remarkable charity with the ship and its owner, though it would never match the ship he considered, in spite of Avon's loud opinions to the contrary, his own.

Jenna was before him. He wondered if she'd slept, but she looked fresh enough. She had removed the brown from her hair, and Tarrant realized that if he'd seen her like this, paired with Blake, he would have recognized them sooner.

With a crew of two, this ship would need to run on automatic much of the time, using an alarm system to warn of potentially dangers that the sensors might pick up. It meant they must spend longer than normal watches. Tarrant eyed the layout with a knowledgeable eye. He'd flown ships with this basic design often enough to feel comfortable with this one, though he'd want to study the specs before he attempted anything fancy.

"Not bad," he said appreciatively. "How fast can you handle? Time distort twelve?"

"Thirteen in a pinch," Jenna replied, standing up to greet him, with a gesture around the flight deck. "This ship's been mine for five years. When I was arrested, a friend got it to Kamarel and hid it there in an underground silo I knew of. As soon as I realized I'd missed contacting the _Liberator_ , I worked passage there and picked up _Moonwind_. She's small enough to store on board _Liberator_ when we find her, and I can run her alone it necessary. I used her to get Blake off Reyallen."

"Armament?" Tarrant asked eagerly, prowling around and looking at everything.

Instead of being suspicious of him, she regarded him with a wary tolerance. "We get by," she said. "It's standard neutron blasters and proton explosives. We can fight at capacity for several hours without needing a recharge, and there aren't that many fights a smuggler gets into that last so long. We'd rather run. You'll be taking a watch when you're fit--from the look of you, later today. I'd like the flight deck covered longer than Blake and I can manage, and I think you know your stuff."

"What leads you to that assumption?" Tarrant asked, though he couldn't hold back a smile at what he considered her recognition of his remarkable talent.

"Just the way you look around. You know what you're seeing, even the mods. But it's more than that. You've flown _Liberator_ for a year. Avon doesn't tolerate second best. You'd have to know your job or he would have dumped you for someone who did."

"Zen and I got on well," Tarrant replied with a grin. "There's nothing like it."

She nodded wistfully. "Blake misses the others and the _Liberator_ 's abilities. But I miss the ship. Sitting at her controls was the greatest thrill I ever knew."

Tarrant nodded eagerly. "When I saw her drifting after the battle, I couldn't stay away. Even if my own ship hadn't been dying around me, I would have got on board _Liberator_ or died in the process."

They fell to comparing notes, describing challenging runs and daredevil stunts they'd attempted, testing each other's knowledge and skill. It was a close battle. Tarrant knew he was well trained. Top of his class--and the surrounding classes--at the Academy, he'd been promised a bright future in Space Command. That hadn't materialized, but it didn't detract from his abilities. From the sound of it Jenna was a natural too, though she'd learned in a harder school. Her experience would be very useful, and he knew he could learn from her, just as she could learn from him. She suspected she was the better, just as he was sure he was, but they were both good enough to insure that the rivalry would be a pleasant challenge--most of the time.

Jenna had the schematics of the altered drive displayed on the main screen when Blake arrived, looking tired and wan, as if the dream had led to a night of restless and intermittent sleep.

"So you're up and about," he said to Tarrant, eyeing the young pilot measuringly, with a sideways and startled look at Jenna's fair hair.

"In fact I look better than you do, Blake."

The rebel was clearly taken aback. "You've told him?" he asked Jenna sharply.

"I had to. You had another dream last night and he heard. Came in to wake you--and you called him Avon."

"Damn." Blake dropped his eyes. "I'd hoped I was over them."

"Seeing Tarrant had to remind you of Avon," Jenna soothed. But Blake's eyes were disconsolate.

Strangely moved, Tarrant heard himself saying, "I lost count of the places we went hunting you, Blake. Servalan was behind most of it, leaving rumors for us to find, luring us into traps more often than not. We always got out again, but it was one risk Avon never learned from. It only needed the slightest hint that you'd been to a planet and we'd go haring off again. I don't know what your hold over him is, but it's strong. I'll be glad to have you back, if only for the chance to relax."

Halfway through his speech, Blake's head came up and he fixed his eyes on Tarrant in wary and skeptical delight as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, though he clearly wanted to. "He'd hardly want me back, Tarrant."

"Not want you back?" Shaking his head, Tarrant grinned at him. "Because he came down so hard on you at Star One? Vila says it's because he was afraid he was letting you too close to him, and Cally says you had grown obsessed with your Cause and Avon knew it."

"Cally might be right," Blake agreed. "Jenna's told me much the same." He went over to the navigational position and sat down, rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

"Headache?" Jenna asked him, and when he nodded, she stood beside him and began a neck massage. Tarrant could see his body begin to relax under her gifted fingers.

"Whatever was between you and Avon needs to be resolved," Tarrant said as he watched them. "But if you go carefully enough, I think it can work out. Avon makes loud noises about the _Liberator_ being his ship, but we've fought the Federation more than once. I don't think he'd object to doing it again, and none of the rest of us would, either, given some say in the matter. The times Avon's decided to do things his way without consulting us never went well, and Cally says it worked the same when you were there. We're not in the military, with a chain of command. We're a team of equals."

"It's far safer for you to say so to us than it would be to tell Avon the same thing." Jenna smiled. "He'll not have changed."

"I think he _has_ changed," Tarrant replied. "After Anna's death, he..." Oops. That was private, something Avon could tell Blake or not, if he chose. The last thing he'd welcome was Tarrant spilling his own personal secrets.

"Anna's death?" Blake echoed in disbelief. "But Anna died years ago back on Earth."

"No, Avon only thought she did." Now that he'd started, he'd have to finish. He explained briefly about Anna Grant and the trip to Earth.

"Sula?" Blake echoed in surprise, sitting away from Jenna's lax fingers as she forgot the massage in her reaction to the story. "We heard about the attempted coup and had some hope that something might come of it, but nothing did. The Federation came in and mopped up quickly and Sula was dead when they found her."

"I shouldn't have trusted her rebellion even if she'd succeeded, Blake," Tarrant disagreed. "It wasn't so much a revolution as a palace coup. I think she had dreams of taking Servalan's place. Freedom for the people meant freedom to put Sula--or Bartolomew--on Servalan's throne. Whether her people could have stood up to the counterattack if she'd lived is a moot point, I suppose. Servalan would have had her killed if Avon hadn't done the job for her."

"How did he take it?" Blake asked softly, the first trace of sympathy for Avon visible in his eyes.

"About how you'd imagine he'd take it. He got colder, more distant. He was starting to come back from it before we went to Caston, though. After--after Deeta died, he was decent to me." He shrugged. "Not particularly sympathetic, but that was never Avon's way."

"No, though he managed it more than you'd expect." Blake smiled thinly. "For a long time I blamed him for Reyallen. Maybe I still do. I thought he should have come for me there, or even before I got there."

"He couldn't find you. Shortly after Dayna and I joined the ship, we picked up a lead, that you were on the planet Obsidian, so we went there. It seemed a strong lead, but Servalan had stage-managed it. She wanted the _Liberator_ then, and she's tried to get it since. She wants to make a fleet of DSVs to consolidate her power."

"She always wanted that."

"But she wanted to stop you more. You were always the greater threat to her power. You and _Liberator_ together was a threat she couldn't tolerate. Avon was a different matter. I think she's drawn to him. She tried to seduce him over to her cause on Sarren, but he wasn't having any. A part of him enjoys the challenge, though."

Jenna made a disgusted sound. "Perhaps they suit each other."

"No," Blake disagreed. "There could be an attraction. I think Avon would like to be as she is; amoral, ruthless, able to take and never give, and to show no pain. But he isn't that way."

"You're an optimist, Blake. Avon is honorable within his own limits," she argued. "But they don't allow for other people."

"Then why risk himself and his ship to look for me?"

"Because he'd given his word," Tarrant put in. "He meant to take you back to Earth. When it started to look like there was little point to that, he didn't stop looking."

"We have to contact him. If he thinks you're dead..."

"He's hardly likely to mourn," Tarrant said hastily, unable to picture Avon wallowing in misery over his pilot's demise. But he knew Avon would regret the loss in his own way, and the others would mourn him, especially Dayna. Even Vila. Oddly enough, in spite of his initial annoyance with the little thief, he had come to tolerate him fairly well, especially after Keezaarn. There had been more than one instance when Vila had been curiously protective of him, and Vila had looked with amazing unconcern down the barrel of Tarrant's gun and pushed it away with no trace of fear on Sardos. Vila had been there when he fell, and Vila's body had not been there when Blake and Jenna came. So the thief must have believed him dead and told the others.

Tarrant grimaced. "Maybe I should try to contact them."

"I wish you better luck than we've had so far," Blake told him.

Tarrant sat down at the communications board and tried to frame a message that might reach Orac somehow. Without knowing the _Liberator_ 's present location or even the general vicinity, he couldn't beam it directly to the ship. But it he made it too obvious, someone who meant them ill was likely to pick it up. No communications specialist, Tarrant frowned. "I wish we had a T-P crystal now. We could send it through the loop, coded. I know some codes that Orac could translate easily. The only problem is that the Federation could translate them too."

"But we have an advantage," Blake burst out with sudden enthusiasm. "We know things about Avon and the _Liberator_ and the others that the Federation doesn't. We can establish our bona fides once contact is made."

"Then let me work at this," Tarrant replied, and set to work devising a code. He had no direct link to Orac. Avon might have done something that would tie into Orac wherever he was, but Avon was a computer specialist who knew how to manage Orac very well. Tarrant was left with fewer options. He devised a code and sent it in all directions, knowing Orac could work through it and find the right one eventually.

"There," he said when he'd finished, looking up at Blake, who was leaning over his shoulder. "That should do it eventually. Now all we have to do is wait."

*** *** ***

As the _Liberator_ approached Reyallen, Avon gathered the crew on the flight deck to go over their plans for the rescue attempt. Orac had worked on nothing else for the past eight days and spent the first moments of the meeting complaining about its own abandoned work, but Avon glared at the computer impatiently. "Give us your information, Orac. The sooner we complete this, the sooner your usefulness will end and you will be free to continue your own researches." He sounded bored with the computer's complaints as if he meant to tolerate no more of them.

+Oh, very well. Scans of planetary records indicate that Roj Blake was brought to Reyallen thirteen months ago, just one month following his departure from the _Liberator_. He spent the first month of captivity under close confinement in the main headquarters, where he was questioned extensively under drugs and various machine methods. Programming was attempted upon him also, but it proved inconclusive, less than successful. Reports indicate that the questioners were not pleased. Physical torture was implemented at this stage.+

Vila made a small horrified sound that caused Avon to eye him consideringly before he turned his rigid and emotionless face to Orac again. But Cally had seen his eyes and knew he was outraged at what had been done to Blake. If Avon had his way, those in charge of the Reyallen prison would soon be dead. If Blake were dead, he would have companions for his death, and if he still lived, those who had harmed him would be gone. Cally saw nothing wrong with just retribution.

Vila's face had frozen, and Cally found herself wondering what had been done to him when he was a prisoner. He had always claimed he'd had his head adjusted by the best, but it would not stay adjusted. Had the conditioners resorted to physical persuasion on Vila, too? From his expression now, she was certain of it.

Orac avoided further detail, continuing the report. +At the end of one month, Blake was released from close confinement and transported to a remote location on the other side of the planet. I have registered the coordinates with the teleport. One year has passed since his relocation. There are no certainties that he will have remained in that locale. I have worked out a system to scan the surface with the Zen computer to locate clusters of people. It is our considered judgment that Blake would recruit followers, even on Reyallen. As approach is made those groups within a reasonable distance of his last known position will be targeted. There are no current reports of Blake in any base files.+

"Would such files report his death, if it had occurred?" Avon asked flatly. Dayna turned unhappy eyes upon him. Cally knew she was still disturbed by Tarrant's death. Dayna had trouble letting go of people who mattered to her. The Auron shook her head. Tarrant had died such a short time ago that only the hectic conditions since had prevented the rest of them from reacting more strongly to his death. When the Reyallen mission was over, Cally suspected certain people would feel it all the harder, especially if Blake was not rescued.

+When a death is noted, it is registered,+ Orac concurred. +If Roj Blake is dead, he died without incurring the notice of his jailers.+

"A comforting thought," Avon muttered. He turned away. "Describe the defenses we must face."

+A fleet of six pursuit ships patrols the system sporadically. I have ascertained their schedule. The _Liberator_ can approach the planet without alerting the pursuit ships. I have fed the necessary course into the navigation computers. Planetary detectors are also computer controlled, so it will be possible to render this vessel invisible to their scans.+ Orac sounded quite smug. +Communications can also be controlled. An approach to the planet will not be free of danger, but it is to my advantage to enable you to locate Blake and return as quickly as possible.+

"Protecting yourself, Orac"?" Vila asked sourly.

+Naturally. I am unique.+

Cally smiled a little. She couldn't help wondering if Orac was concerned for Blake. Avon would have denied it, of course, insisting that Orac's reactions were entirely the result of skilled programming, but Cally wondered. She could picture Avon's scorn at such anthropomorphic speculations.

"That's it, then?" Vila asked. "We simply teleport down and start asking questions? Showing around holos of Blake? Why don't I man the teleport for you?"

"Such was my intention," Avon informed him. "Cally and Dayna will accompany me. Both of them have useful skills. You, however, would be little more than dead weight."

"Dead weight!" Vila echoed in dismay.

"I should doubt there are locks down there," Dayna informed the thief. "Stay aboard and conspire with Orac. It worked the last time."

Vila brightened. "It did, didn't it? I'll be your one man backup."

"Why does that fail to inspire me with confidence?" Avon asked. He sounded nearly normal. Cally had noticed that the thief's banter could break past the rigid walls that surrounded him when nothing else could--but only until Avon remembered Terminal and their current mission. Then he would withdraw again.

As they entered the final approach for Reyallen, Avon grew even more grim and serious. He rarely spoke, even when spoken to, unless it regarded the mission. When he came to the teleport section, strapping his gunbelt into place, he looked like he would shatter at a word. If they didn't find Blake this time, it would likely mean he was dead, once and for all, and Avon was reluctant to face that realization. Cally hated the thought of It too, but Terminal had shaken Avon's confidence badly. For him to admit he had failed proved it. He had led them into danger, nearly lost the _Liberator_ and risked everything on a scheme that had been doomed from the first. She suspected he believed this one doomed as well. Perhaps he even considered it more of Servalan's conditioning. She had mentioned the planet Jevron to them. She had known Orac's capabilities.

Then Cally shook her head. Servalan had never intended to leave them with Orac. If her plan had succeeded, Avon would have had no opportunity to seek Blake. Without the _Liberator_ and Orac, this mission would be next to impossible and would require a great deal more planning and an even greater amount of luck.

Dayna arrived, her gun already in place, followed by Vila, who carried Orac. "We haven't been spotted," he announced. "And Orac says those patrol ships won't be back for six hours. But he has one more suggestion."

"And that is?" Avon asked, affronted that the suggestion had been made to Vila and not to him.

"These." Vila displayed three small wafers. "Step right up and get your locators. Swallow them down. They're harmless and dissolve eventually."

Avon took one and looked at it with irritation. They were like the one Avon had intended the thief to swallow before teleporting down to Keezaarn, the one that Vila had palmed and left behind. Avon had called him an idiot for refusing to use it, and Cally saw him remembering that. Glaring at the thief, he put the offending wafer into his mouth.

"It's in case you're caught and we have to run and come back for you," Vila explained brightly. "The first thing they'd do would be take your teleport bracelet. This way we can pinpoint your location and come down with a spare."

"Another heroic rescue, Vila?" Cally asked, hiding a smile. "Soon we will scarcely recognize you."

"Heroic rescue?" echoed Vila unhappily as he realized he would be the one rescuing any prisoners. "Here now, I'm not up to any such thing."

"You might need to be," Dayna replied. "So see that you're prepared with spare bracelets and a gun."

"Oh." Vila took his place at the control console. "Orac will say when to teleport," he added, risking one quick glance at Avon.

The tech turned to the computer. "Well, Orac?"

+As I have stated repeatedly, 'well' is not a question. Take your positions. Quickly. Time is of the essence. You will be teleported to the most likely location first.+

The landing party moved into place, drawing their weapons. After several minutes of growing tension, the levers shifted on their own and deposited them on the planet.

It was instantly clear why Reyallen was considered such a hellhole. The first disadvantage made itself known the moment they were solid. It was the weather.

Icy wind stabbed through their clothing, causing three hands to reach for the thermal controls to heat their environmental suits. The ground was barren, rugged, full of red rocks. The old snow that lay in the shadows of boulders and jagged hills was stained red by an overlying layer of dust, like splotches of dried blood. Here and there, a squat, bristly evergreen tree, poked out of the rutted earth. Off to one side, a range of steep hills, full of sheer cliffs and dark canyons, towered over their heads. At first glance, there was no evidence of human habitation.

Then Dayna pointed sharply to a rough dwelling hard in the shelter of the cliffs, trees and dead branches stacked around it as if to serve as a windbreak. "There," she said. "Someone must live there. Orac said we'd find people here."

Avon started off for the hovel immediately, gun in hand, while Cally and Dayna fell in behind him. Before they had gone a dozen steps, a sharp ping of sound rang out and the dust danced a meter in front of Avon's feet. "Stay right there," a harsh voice bellowed. "This is our hide. We don't share with newcomers."

"We have no desire to take your--er--hide," Avon called back, his voice cold and relentless. "We only want information."

"Information don't come free," the man yelled back. "I'll give you information--in exchange for one of your women."

"'My' women are not for trade," Avon replied unyieldingly. "In exchange for information, I will give you food and a heater."

"I don't see no food, and I don't see no heater. Get them here or give me the women. I fancy the black one myself. She looks young and tough. She'd need to be."

"I'm too tough for you," Dayna cried.

"Cally, return to the ship. Get a supply of food and one of the portable heaters that is powered by a solar cell."

"You're an open target here, Avon," she pointed out.

"They want the heater and the food. If we're dead when you return, don't give them the supplies." He spoke loudly enough to be heard from the hut. It Blake were in there, he should have recognized Avon's voice. But the heater and the food were easily spared, and aiding the prisoners thwarted the Federation. Cally called in for teleport.

When she returned and placed the items on the ground in front of Avon, the hut's door swung open immediately and a big, brutal looking man emerged, armed with three different weapons, a para-handgun, a laser rifle and something homemade that might have been an air gun. Two others stepped outside and stood, one on either side of the door. He passed a gun to each man, and, retaining the para gun, he approached cautiously, ready to fire in an instant. As he neared them, Cally could see that he was unshaven, not very clean, thin almost to the point of emaciation, and evidently possessed of some kind of body vermin. He paused to scratch every few steps. Involuntarily, Cally took a step backward.

The man studied the heater and opened the food sacks. "I'd ask where you got it, but I'd rather not know. We'll eat the food before anyone comes and hide the heater at the first sound of a flyer. We'll deny you gave it us. Now what do you want?"

"Have you seen this man?" Cally asked, displaying the holo of Blake.

The man leaned closer sending a wave of a powerful and unpleasant odor in her direction. "Him. Was here awhile back. Maybe year ago. Ho! Rolly!"

"Want me to kill 'em, Jo?" Rolly replied.

"No. Tell me, when'd you last see Blake?"

Avon went absolutely rigid and Dayna shifted eagerly, excitement running across her face.

"Dunno," Rolly bellowed back. "Nine, ten months, maybe? Just after he got over the sweats. One day he was here, next day gone. Always thought a carga got him, dragged him off. He'd a been weak from the sweats. Pity. Coulda used a man like that when the Green Terrors came."

"Yeah, Rolly's right. Ten months. Right after Donner died. Sweats killed five, six of us. Always thought the Feds seeded it on us. Thin out the population. Blake's gone. Don't think he moved on. Green Terrors don't take new men. Wouldn't ask if I was you. They eat their prisoners." He scratched absently at his crotch. "Alive," he added as an afterthought.

"Where do we find the Green Terrors?" Dayna asked. Jo jerked a thumb southward.

"Three days that way. Maybe wouldn't kill Blake. Feds might want him back someday. Might keep him as a pet. Slave labor. Wouldn't have any use for you." He scratched his belly as if the vermin were migrating higher and grinned evilly. "I liked Blake. Good luck to yer." He grabbed up one of the food bags. "Rolly, get your bloody arse over here and help me lug these bags.

At his shout, men came pouring out of the hide, racing toward the _Liberator_ party. Avon raised his bracelet. "Bring us up, Vila," he ordered. "Quickly."

"Well?" asked the thief when they materialized on the ship. "Any luck?"

"Blake was there," Dayna replied when Avon was silent, taking off his bracelet with a brooding look upon his face. "Those people knew him. But they haven't seen him for at least nine months."

Vila's face fell. Shooting surreptitious looks at Avon, he appealed to Cally. "What do we do next?"

Avon's voice was taut and unyielding. "We continue the search."

The thief sought Cally's eyes. She nodded. "There are places we have yet to search, Vila. Rival gangs fight down there. It seems likely that another gang has taken Blake."

"Nothing seems likely," Avon replied. "But as long as there is a chance Blake is down there, we will search for him." He turned to leave the teleport section.

"Where are you going?" Vila called after him.

He paused, favored Vila with an icy look. "To fetch supplies for trade." Cally looked at Vila In great concern and followed him.

*** *** ***

Blake and Tarrant were alone on the _Moonwind_ 's flight deck when the distress call came. "Urgent! We need help. Someone respond, please. Three pursuit ships after us! Any rebel sympathizers, we need help!"

Tarrant got a locator on the signal. "Put it up on the screen, Blake," he said. "That signal's close or it wouldn't be so strong."

Blake obeyed slowly as if he had forgotten how to move. "It's in that planetary system," he reported, pointing out to a system with four planets, three of which seemed likely to support life. "That's Tarnis. They've been resisting the Federation for the past five months."

"We can come In behind the pursuit ships," Tarrant offered, studying the screen and the pattern of moving ships. "If we go around the fourth planet, we'll get close before they know we're here. We've a good chance of getting two of them before we draw any fire."

"Go in against three ships?" Blake asked, sudden hesitation in his voice.

Tarrant drew back from his schematic, jerked out of his thoughts of battle strategy. Blake's face had paled and a wildness had entered his eyes. "We're just the one ship, Tarrant. We can't take on the Federation until we find the _Liberator_."

"What are you talking about, Blake? That's straightforward." He set the course as he talked, working busily, eager for the action. It seemed a long time since he'd had a good battle. "I can take them out easily."

"How do you know there aren't more of them? Hiding behind the second planet, for instance?"

"There could be," Tarrant replied. "But why should they bother? I doubt they've picked us up, and there isn't a sign of another rebel ship in the entire system. They can handle one ship without requiring backup. By the time they see us, it'll be too late to call anyone. It's straightforward, Blake, in and out."

"l don't like it," Blake replied.

"I'm going in. I won't leave them defenseless."

"This isn't your ship, Tarrant." A note of desperation filled Blake's voice.

Finally, Tarrant turned and stared at Blake. The rebel returned the look for a moment, then he dropped his eyes. "That's it," breathed the pilot in sudden realization. "You've lost your nerve, haven't you? Maybe their programming succeeded on Reyallen after all."

"We can't fight with this ship," Blake insisted desperately.

Tarrant was sympathetic. Blake had been through hell down there. The scars and the nightmares told that story all too clearly. But he couldn't leave the poor devils in that ship to the Federation. Something in Tarrant had always sympathized with the underdog, and this particular underdog had no chance but him.

"They're your rebels, Blake. Your rabble, as Avon would say. I'm going in."

Blake sucked in a shaky breath and raised his eyes to Tarrant's. "I...can't help you, Tarrant."

"I understand. Just don't stop me." He set the course and dove into the fray. As they circled the fourth planet to come in above the plane of elliptic, he looked at Blake again. "I'm sorry. It's the only thing I can do. I think I know what you're going through."

"I hardly think you know that," Blake snarled with a trace more spirit. But his hands gripped the arms of his chair white-knuckled, and all color had gone from his face.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Jenna burst onto the flight deck, her eyes resting on Blake for a horrified minute before she confronted Tarrant.

"Some of Blake's rabble are fighting it out with three pursuit ships," Tarrant replied. "I'm going in after them." He met her eyes. "I won't overlook a distress call, Jenna."

"You don't understand."

"I think I do. He lost his nerve on Reyallen."

"We've stayed out of trouble so far," she said, even as her eyes automatically ran over the screens, measuring and checking his course. "He'll be better on _Liberator_."

"The longer it goes on the harder it will be," Tarrant insisted. "I've seen pilots go through it, and I'm sure you have, too. We can handle this. I could have done it alone, but with two of us, it's better. I've got us going in at 324 mark 4. The planet will shield us until the last minute. We'll give those poor beggars a chance to go to ground on one of the planets while the pursuit ships are blowing up."

A spark of excitement lit in Jenna's eyes. She turned to Blake reluctantly. "Blake? I think he's right. We could avoid trouble before, but this time lives are at stake. You don't ignore a distress signal, Blake. If you do, it could be you next time. I'd answer a distress signal even from a Federation ship." She added gently, "You could go to your quarters if you like? I'd be down as soon as it was over."

Blake shot her a hurt, betrayed look, but then he forced himself to sit up straight. "No, Jenna. I'll stay. I know I've been running scared. Do what you must."

Somewhere inside himself, he found courage. Though his face was white and his hands shook, he refused to back down. Mentally, Tarrant damned Reyallen. What had they done to break a man like Blake?

Then the time for speculation ran out. Since Tarrant was at the helm, Jenna slid into the weapons position and cleared the neutron blasters for firing.

"On my mark," Tarrant said as he guided the ship in behind the rear pursuit ship. _Moonwind_ was responsive to his slightest coaxing, fast and maneuverable, and it took moments to slide it into position. "Now!"

Jenna fired with deadly accuracy. The rear pursuit ship blossomed into a spectacular explosion, silent and deadly. Tarrant gave a whoop of enthusiasm as she fired a second time. The middle pursuit ship started to turn at the realization of its companion's demise, but too late. Jenna's second shot took it out as neatly as her first shot had done.

The rebel craft peeled off for the third planet, heading down into the atmosphere, and the lead pursuit ship sent a few plasma bolts after it which the rebel ship eluded easily.

"He'll come after us now," Jenna announced, her eagerness imperfectly concealed. "Stay sharp, Tarrant. Blake, we'll need the force wall."

After a timeless eternity that couldn't have been more than ten seconds, Blake reached forward to engage it. "Force wall in place," he reported shakily.

"Good," breathed Jenna in some triumph, though one battle could hardly complete Blake's cure.

Tarrant didn't have time to think of Blake for some minutes. Deprived of his quarry, the pilot of the lead pursuit ship seemed eager to take revenge on the ship that had interfered. The enemy pilot was good and Tarrant had a run for his money. One shot got closer than he liked, impacting on the force wall and shaking _Moonwind_ violently, but though the lights flickered, control came back immediately. Jenna plastered the enemy with fire until it burst into a spectacular fireball. The main screen put up a dimming field automatically, and Jenna smiled and started shutting down the weapons.

"Take us out of here fast, Tarrant," she ordered. "That rebel pilot will have to take care of himself. We might handle three ships with surprise on our side. but I doubt we could do it again, now they know about us."

"You're right." He grinned at her jubilantly. The action had felt good. Setting a course out of the Tarnis system at maximum, he began to shut down the strategy computers. "That cleared my head," he declared.

"You're a better pilot than I expected," she replied.

"What, you didn't appreciate my natural talent before?"

She smiled. "You've more imagination than most Academy trained types. I think--" She turned toward Blake then and fell silent, staring at him.

The rebel leader was sitting slumped in his position, his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking as if he were crying. Tarrant's balloon of triumph burst and he gave himself a mental kick. His enthusiasm for the fight had put Blake's problem to the back of his mind, and Jenna's elation at their success had distracted her too. Now she jumped up and went to Blake, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Blake? Are you all right?" At first, he didn't answer her. Then he raised his head and turned empty eyes upon her. Tears had streaked his face. "I almost let those rebels die, Jenna," he said in a strengthless voice. "I meant to turn tail and run. They were my people. Rebels. I would have let them die if Tarrant hadn't insisted we fight. You would have gone along with me if he hadn't been here. You've done it before."

"No, Blake. We haven't done it before. We haven't been in this kind of situation before, and you know it."

"Because we've run like rabbits every time there was a chance of it," he corrected bitterly, dashing a hand across his face to scrub away the tears. "How many times have we turned our backs on people who needed us? And that's not the worst of it, Jenna."

"It's all right, Blake," she soothed.

But Tarrant suspected Blake didn't want sympathy. He would find it indigestible right now. "What is the worst of it, Blake?" he asked in a neutral voice.

"The fact that I'd probably do the same thing again. If I'd been alone on watch, we'd be far away right now. I'd have run out on them."

"You don't know that, Blake," Jenna insisted.

"Oh, but he does, Jenna." Tarrant caught her eye and sent her a wordless apology. "He knows what he's done. He would have killed those people if we hadn't overruled him."

Blake flinched, and Tarrant felt his pain, but he didn't stop. "We'll have to go on overruling him, too. So far, we haven't found the _Liberator_ , but when we do, Avon's not the most sympathetic or understanding of men. We've got to keep pushing." He grinned suddenly. "But finding _Liberator_ will give us another option. I think Reyallen is responsible for this, Blake. They may have programmed you--it wouldn't surprise me. I think they've turned you against Avon as well."

"They couldn't have done," Blake burst out, startled.

"No? Your dreams tell a different story. You blamed Avon for not finding you. Possibly that was just a reaction to what you'd been through, but how do we know they didn't tell you he knew where you were but didn't choose to take the risk of coming after you."

Blake's face flushed. "He had to know," he insisted. "Servalan meant to tell him."

"Then she conditioned you. I guarantee it, Blake. She never told Avon where you were. If she had, we'd have come running. You can believe it."

"Can I?" He shivered. "I don't know what to believe any more, Tarrant. I'm not sure what kind of a person I am any more. I don't know if anything is left of the man I used to be."

"More than you believe," Jenna insisted passionately. "If there weren't, you wouldn't be feeling this way now."

"Guilty?" he asked.

"Exactly. Don't you see, Blake, you did fight them. You survived the battle. Now you're blaming yourself for failing to risk before. But you did it this time. You didn't lose control during the fight. You did what was expected of you, even though you were shaken to the core."

"Did what I was expected? Pushing a button?" he cried scornfully. "I'll be a bloody great use to Avon when we find him, won't I? It we find him. It's been a week since we sent the message. If he were coming, he'd have let us know by now."

"We don't know that. We don't know what's happening on the _Liberator_. Don't condemn Avon for something that might be beyond his control. If you do, you let Servalan win."

Blake's head came up at that. "I won't let her win," he half snarled. Then the spirit faded once more. "No, Tarrant. Suppose you're too late? Suppose she's won already?" He stood up shakily and walked off the flight deck without looking back. Jenna followed him.

*** *** ***

The Green Terrors proved equally uninformative about Blake. The one member of that gang that Avon and Dayna captured claimed to know Blake. "I saw him about. Ran with Jo and his gang for a month or two, then we didn't see him after that."

"Jo suggests you captured him," Dayna informed the man, a filthy, shaggy-haired giant with bulging muscles and a cold, intelligent eye. "We want to know if that's true."

"That's what we want to know," Avon agreed, jamming the point of his gun into the man's back. "We want to know now."

"Look, I tell you, I haven't seen him, not for nine months or more. I always thought he tried to take over Jo's band. Wanted to unite the prisoners and take over the planet, didn't he, then? Jo had other ideas. Ugly bastard's got no sense. Taking over the planet, now, that's got sense to it. Wipe the keepers off the face of this world. Creeping up on us and killing people at random. Keep down the population, they say. Most likely they watch us, get rid of troublemakers. Blake was a troublemaker."

"I'm sure you are an even bigger troublemaker," Avon purred. The big man's face quavered in sudden panic, as if he realized Avon meant to kill him.

"There was no record of Blake's death, Avon," Dayna said sharply.

Avon blinked as if coming out of a trance and shoved the man away from him. "Get out of my sight. If I find you've killed Blake, I'll be back--and you will die very slowly."

The man stumbled and fell to his knees, but he scrambled to his feet in an ecstasy of panic, fleeing in the direction of his 'hide'. Avon bared his teeth in one of the smiles that never touched his eyes.

Dayna shivered. "Do you believe him, Avon?"

"A bully like that falls apart if challenged properly." He started to raise his bracelet.

A shot rang out.

Dayna had never taken her eyes from the Green Terrors leader, and he was still running. At the shot, he stopped, whirled in astonishment as if surprised to be alive, then dove for cover.

Beside her, Avon cried out and fell. "Avon!"

"Run, you bitch," bawled the big man as he rolled behind a boulder. "It's keepers!"

Keepers! The threat must be serious if the man who must want them dead would warn her. A second shot took chips out of a rock inches from her arm and she ducked involuntarily, lunging back to try to pull Avon into shelter.

A whole flurry of shots made her fling herself down behind the rock. "Vila!" she yelled into her bracelet. "Bring--"

A flyer dived right at her, causing her to flinch back, afraid it would strike her. "What's that you said, Dayna?" Vila's filtered voice came back to her as three men poured off the flyer and grabbed at Avon. "Do you want fetching up?"

"Yes! Now!"

But as she felt the teleport take her, she saw one of them grab Avon's bracelet and fling it aside. As she dematerialized, they grabbed his body and flung it unceremoniously into the flyer. Then she found herself back on the ship with Vila and Cally staring at her in alarm.

"They've got Avon!" she burst out.

"The Green Terrors?" Vila asked in alarm.

"No, keepers. They came in a flyer, got right up to us before we heard them. They must be rigged for silent running. They shot Avon."

"Dead?" Vila asked in a small, frightened voice.

"I don't know. They took him. They put him in the flyer. I think they knew who we were because they took his bracelet off." She stormed over to the console in impotent frustration. "Orac will have to track him. If we try to stop them now, they'll probably kill him."

"And we must arrange for Orac to divert the flotilla," Cally agreed. "They will be returning in an hour. Orac," she ordered, turning to the computer. "We shall need you to do something about those pursuit ships. A sighting in the outer system should be sufficient. And monitor reports to headquarters. I think the keepers realized they had someone from the _Liberator_. Perhaps they were warned there might be a rescue attempt."

"But what about Avon?" asked Vila.

"We go in as soon as we can. We will not help Avon if we die in the attempt. Eventually he will be left alone, if only for a moment. We can trace him by the locator he swallowed. The moment he is alone, one of us will teleport down and bring him back."

"I'll go," Dayna offered. "I let them take him."

"What could you have done? They might have killed you, too."

"I should have killed them," she replied bitterly. "Orac," Cally went on. "Locate Avon's tracing device and tie it into the teleport. We must be prepared to go in at first opportunity."

+He is being moved from one location to another. To tie that into the teleport will require continually changing the coordinates.+

"Then change them," Dayna snapped.

"And report any communication down there which refers to Avon, Blake or the _Liberator_ ," Vila added.

"Can you determine Avon's condition?" Cally asked.

+A tracer lacks capacity to relate that Information,+ returned Orac impatiently. +However, should the subject die, the tracer's function will be impaired. Whilst the coordinates continue to change smoothly, Avon lives.+

Their eyes went to the grid, watching the moving dot there. Though Dayna was no telepath, she could feel all three of them urging it to keep doing so.

*** *** ***

Pain was the only constant. There had been painful motion, a rough ride in a moving vehicle, then there was an abrupt, painful stop. Someone carried him, painfully, into a structure and tossed him onto a cot, and now, he lay unmoving, only the pain still there.

It centered In his right shoulder, a hot throbbing that beat along with his heart. Voices in the background talked softly, their muttered conversation a muted counterpoint to the thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Avon couldn't think clearly yet.

"...dress the wound?" That voice didn't sound particularly concerned for his well-being, but at least it displayed no overt hostility.

"Why?" asked another voice. This one was scornful and sadistic. "He'll be dead tomorrow anyway."

"You want information, don't you? Most men don't talk when they're unconscious. Want him to stay alive long enough for the Major to see him, don't you? Then stand aside."

The sadist shifted impatiently and Avon felt hands cutting away his clothes. It occurred irrelevantly that he had always liked this particular tunic. Then a diagnostic scanner beeped near his ear and he flinched away from It.

"Projectile weapons are always so messy," the medic said wryly. "I'll have to dig the bullet out. If I don't he could die quite soon. Stand back and let me work. I'm hardly likely to cure him quickly."

"You're soft, Jarrel."

"No, I'm not soft. I just don't like waste. This man has useful Information, and the Major will want it. You know who he is, don't you? He's Kerr Avon. Noted terrorist, on the top ten wanted list. Know why he's here? After Blake."

"After _Blake_? But Blake's dead."

Avon froze, the pain of his wound fading into the background as a new hurt replaced it, the pain of utter futility. But the medic spoke briskly.

"Nonsense. Blake's not dead. If he is, where's the body? It was that raid and you know it. No word of-Blake after that. The major's scared to tell the president that Blake escaped, that's what it is. So Blake's unofficially dead. But he's not with the _Liberator_ any more, else we'd not have Avon here."

Something hissed against Avon's shoulder and he felt his body going numb. He opened his eyes wildly and saw Jarrel hovering over him, a frail looking little man who wore spectacles and whose colorless hair looked like it was not well acquainted with a comb. He didn't seem the type to stand up against the Federation bully boy who stood behind him, glaring so disapprovingly, but there was resolution in the medic's eyes.

When he saw Avon looking at him, Jarrel said firmly, "Neural deadener. If I'm to pull that slug out of your shoulder, I don't want you twitching and jerking about. You won't feel a thing, I guarantee it. Won't be able to move for a good eight hours either." His eyes twinkled. "See, Tanx. He won't escape, not unless he can levitate out of here."

Tanx muttered something about teleporting.

"Nonsense. You've taken his bracelet, haven't you? By the time his people figure out where he is, I'll be finished. This is a big base. They'll have to search it bit by bit. Set your troops around the perimeter. Around the building too, it you're that paranoid."

Avon could feel the pressure of Jarrel's probe investigating the wound, but there was no pain. The wound still ached dully, but the sharp edge of it had gone. The cessation of agony was almost as much a shock as the pain had been and he gasped.

"Yes, I know. It's not easy," Jarrel said soothingly, though his tone was impersonal, as if he had perfected his bedside manner long ago and kept up by rote. Then more sharply, "Stand aside, Tanx. He needs blood replacement."

"I prefer him weak."

"Do you prefer him dead before the Major sees him? If you mean to stand about getting in my way, I'll have to send for him."

Tanx snarled inarticulately and withdrew, clomping over to the far wall. "Better," murmured Jarrel with suppressed amusement. He caught Avon's eye and winked at him.

Startled, Avon stared back blankly as the medic read his scanner, nodded, and set up a blood transfusion. "That will keep you going. I'm afraid this will hurt a little, even with the neural suppressor. If I give you enough to deaden all your nerve endings, I'd have to put you on complete life support."

"Get on with it," snarled Avon, bracing himself.

The pain was distant, as if it belonged to someone else, but it was enough to make him stiffen involuntarily. He found himself unable to move, and he hated the helplessness. All he could do was stare up at Jarrel, who worked, intent with concentration, at extracting the bullet. It was quickly evident that he knew his work, for the little experience Avon had had with surgery on _Liberator_ tallied with what he suspected the man was doing. "It will leave you a scar," Jarrel announced. "The Major doesn't care about cosmetic surgery on prisoners. If you should escape, of course, you can see to that yourself, should you choose."

"Encouraging the prisoner to escape?" Tanx asked sourly from his wall.

"The prisoner can't even blink without effort, Tanx. Habit, I'm afraid."

"Should have stayed in private practice then. You're no fit military surgeon."

"Never claimed to be, did I? I'm hardly here by choice, after all. Shut up and let me do my job. For once, I'm putting someone back together instead of taking someone apart."

Avon's eyes narrowed--it took a considerable amount of concentration to do that much. "What did you do to Blake?" he demanded. Speaking took even more effort.

"Ah, still with me?" Jarrel grinned at him. "Most of it wasn't me, of course. They have their own programmers and torturers. I'm just a simple medic. Rough and ready surgery on the prisoners and more refined treatment for the staff. They tried to condition Blake."

"Restricted information, Jarrel. I'll have your holiday points for this."

"What's he going to do with it, I'd like to know? Rush back to the _Liberator_ and transmit it to the galaxy? Isn't a soul in the inner and outer worlds that don't know about Reyallen. He wouldn't shock anyone. No, they tried to break Blake. Think they may have succeeded better than they knew, I'm afraid. He still held out, but he seemed diminished, somehow. Blamed you for not rescuing him."

Avon felt shock run through him. "I didn't know he was here."

"Wouldn't matter. They'd tell him you did."

"But--" He bit his lip as a particularly strong twinge throbbed through his shoulder.

"Got it," Jarrel announced in delight, displaying a small, bloodied lump before Avon's eyes. Now a little repair. No, Tanx. I won't leave my work half done. Back off."

"You're pushing, Jarrel."

"When don't I?" Jarrel chuckled. "He was sent out afraid," he went on. "Blake, I mean. When he came in here, he was all defiance, when he went out he was too cautious. Still determined to bring us down, but no longer willing to take the risk. Didn't blame you consciously, but it was there, eating at him. If you get away, tell him you came after him. It might help."

"Jarrel! I've had enough of this. "I'll put you in restraints if you don't stop."

Jarrel winked at Avon again. "Try," he said placidly. "And next time a carga mauls you or one of the prisoners gets a shot at you, what will you do?"

Tanx snarled once more and reverted into silence.

"That was when they sent him out," the doctor continued. "Gave him a good lashing first. Or rather, a bad lashing. That kind of punishment could never be good, could it?" His hand came down on Avon's sound shoulder. Avon could only feel the pressure in a strange, distant way. "Don't try to move. It won't do any good and you'll only cramp up when the numbness goes off."

Recognizing the sense of that, Avon stopped trying to move. Now that the bullet had been removed, the nerve endings in his shoulder had come to life again, and he moaned. Jarrel pressed a spray against his shoulder near the wound. The pain eased.

"They'll come and question you in several hours," the surgeon continued. "Hear me, Tanx? Several hours. He won't be fit for questions until then. Go on, go out and tell them."

"I go out when you go out."

"Stubborn fool. I know you think I'll pick him up and carry him out of here." He grinned at Avon and bent over the wound once more. "This is a synthetic which will keep the wound closed. It will absorb into the skin and protect the healing. It will, unfortunately, itch."

"Not for very long," Tanx muttered with satisfaction.

"Then I wish it upon him," Avon muttered. It seemed harder to talk. His tongue had to fight to move and his lips felt stiff and tight.

Jarrel nodded. "This should take care of you. They'll leave you alone now. Sleep, if you can." He pulled the fragments of Avon's ruined tunic around him and backed off. "Yes, Tanx, I'm ready now. Shall we go and see the Major?"

When they had departed, Avon tried to move again, wondering, though he was no optimist, if Jarrel had given him something that would wear off quickly and allow him to try to make a break. But his muscles were flaccid and the attempt was futile.

Blake had been here, and Blake was gone. Rescued? It seemed unlikely, but the one thing Jarrel had done was offer information. The officer had tried to shut him up but without much conviction, knowing Avon was scheduled to die. Either Jarrel was softhearted enough to answer Avon's questions since they didn't really matter, or he had worked around to telling Avon Blake had blamed him for his continued incarceration. He sighed. He couldn't be blamed for Blake's misconceptions. But when those misconceptions had been put there by the Federation, Avon refused to accept them. Blake was alive! Blake was free! That he was free blaming Avon for his torture and brainwashing was a minor problem at this point, and almost entirely academic. Avon was a prisoner, unable to move, certainly unlikely to free himself before the base personnel brought in their heavy guns. The Major sounded ominous, if he could quell the sadistic Tanx simply by the mention his name. Unless the others rescued him, Avon would end his days here, unable to locate Blake and correct his misconceptions.

But Blake lived and was free. Why hadn't Blake contacted him? It was obvious. Blake no longer trusted him. After his surprising pledge of trust at Star One, he had seemed determined to continue despite anything Avon could manage. If he could trust Avon after their nearly violent confrontation on the way to Star One, he should be able to trust him forever. It hadn't lasted, of course. Avon was a fool to think it could.

Blake might have tried to contact Avon, but perhaps the programming ran deeper. Perhaps it wouldn't allow him to succeed. Perhaps he might even delude himself into believing he had done so, and then continued to blame Avon when there was no response.

 _Damn him_ , thought Avon furiously, then he tried to shake his head, only to be reminded again of his helplessness. If Tanx came in now, wielding a knife or a gun, Avon could do nothing to save himself. He loathed helplessness. _Damn them_. The Federation had done this to him, had turned Blake against him. For the first time, he felt a surge of Blake's determination to stop the Federation. He squashed it down. The next thing he knew, he'd be trying to free the rabble from their chains. Not that he would be given the chance.

"Avon?" The voice startled him and he tried to turn his head to investigate.

"Vila?" Impossible. Vila could not be here.

"We traced you," Dayna was saying. Dayna here too? She bent over him. "Avon, can you hear me?" She was doing something with his wrist. A teleport bracelet?

"Drugged," he mumbled. "Can't move. Wear off in...eight hours. Neural deadener."

"Is it bad?" Vila asked, pulling at Avon's tunic.

"Leave it for now," Dayna replied. "Cally, teleport. We've got him."

The teleport grid was cold beneath him. Vila and Dayna stood one on either side of him, then both of them knelt. "He's drugged, Cally," Dayna explained. "Vila, go and bring a gurney. We'll take him to the medical unit."

"It's always me when it comes to fetching things," Vila grumbled, but there was relief in his voice as he hurried away. Avon marveled at it, limp and relaxed in the grip of the drug. Why should Vila be relieved? After Terminal, the thief might think himself well rid of Avon. The others might, too.

But Cally was speaking abruptly to Orac. "Have Zen get us out of here, any destination, speed standard by eight. Avoid the pursuit ships if at all possible."

+Confirmed,+ Orac replied in a mockery of Zen's voice, adding, +I suggest you bring me to the medical unit as I am best capable of examining Kerr Avon and determining the extent of his injuries.+

"Federation doctor..." Avon mumbled. It was getting harder to talk. Had Jarrel misjudged the dosage? There was no sensation in his shoulder at all now, and he found it difficult to keep his eyes open. But breathing was unimpaired. "Removed bullet. Seemed competent." The important part came back to him. "Cally." He struggled to catch her arm, but it was useless. "Blake...escaped. Some sort of raid. Nine or ten...months ago. Local garrison...covered up, hoping Servalan wouldn't...find out."

"I was certain Blake would not die easily down there," she replied. "We will find him, Avon. I give you my word. I sense he is alive."

"Wishful...thinking..."

"No, Avon. I know you are uncomfortable with my Auron abilities, but they are real. I do not know where Blake is, but I would have felt his death."

He caught himself wanting to believe her. "Cally. Blake...believes I...left him there." His words sounded muzzy, but she was nodding, careful to stay within his line of vision. "Programming...made him believe...l didn't...come for him."

"I will tell him that is not the truth. I will explain how hard you searched for him. He will believe me. He will believe you."

Consciousness was fading now. He could hear Vila returning with the gurney, muttering a curse as it bumped against the bulkhead. But he struggled to stay awake. "No...doesn't trust me...not any longer."

Cally's hand stroked his forehead. He could feel the pressure of the touch in a dim and distant way and he clung to that sensation in a world where nothing remained. His eyelids drooped.

"You were likely given something to make you sleep," she reassured him, leaning a little forward to make certain he could see her. "Vila, come here. Dayna, we must move him carefully. Try not to jar his shoulder."

His eyes slid shut and the last thing he remembered was the strength of Cally's hand as it encircled his wrist. It cut through the neural deadener and nearly brought feeling back. //We are with you,// she sent. //You are not alone.//

He took those words with him into the darkness.

*** *** ***

When next Blake appeared on the flight deck, he looked better, but he was still edgy, inclined to jump at shadows. Still, when Tarrant looked up warily, Blake found a faint smile for him.

"I won't bite, Tarrant," he assured the younger man. "You'd have the right, though."

"No, Blake. Let's put the blame where it belongs, on Servalan and the Federation. How do you feel?"

"Like I'd tried to sleep on a pile of rocks. The dream came back with a vengeance. I remember this one. Avon appeared in it and tried to shoot me. You could be right, Tarrant. Though I wouldn't choose it, Servalan found a way to drive a wedge between us."

"Yet you've been hunting him all these Months? Or is there more programming? To kill him?"

"I honestly don't know. I've been thinking about it." He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it in considerable dishevelment. "I don't think I ever really sent a message to Orac after all. Something always stopped me. I remember making excuses, lying to myself about it. Jenna always left it to me, since I knew the appropriate codes. Those messages you sent out were shots in the dark. If you want to risk it, I'll give you Orac's proper code now."

"Which Servalan may know. She may even have tried to use it, for all I know."

"Then let Orac do the editing. Why don't you try it, Tarrant? Send it in your name."

"I could try. But I don't want you endangering him. Or any of the others," he added hastily. Catch him defending Avon? But he remembered the man who had seemed to understand better than any of the others when Deeta had died. Avon's understanding had not been displayed with open sympathy. No, he had been brisk and crisp and impatient, demanding work from Tarrant, but overlooking minor errors that would once have called down a heated criticism. Instead, he had simply made corrections himself with a display of impatience for show. Tarrant grinned faintly. He owed Avon for that. Maybe he could help Blake somehow in payment.

"Orac might be able to do something if you're programmed," he offered. "When we find Avon, we'll make sure you're not armed. We'll take every precaution. But we've got to contact the _Liberator_."

"I'm not likely to be much good to them if I'm afraid to fight," Blake replied broodingly.

"Avon always claimed you were an expert at guilt. Afraid to fight, maybe, but you still did it. You didn't go to pieces when we needed you. I think it will only get easier."

"Avon would call you an optimist."

"He's done it before." Tarrant grinned. "Let's try to reach them. It will still take time, but it should be easier than it was before." He went over to the comm console and began to punch buttons. "What's that code?"

"You realize that Servalan will be watching for it?"

"Then we'll set up a relay, bounce it oft a communications satellite or two. Orac can backtrack it if we do it right, but Servalan won't be able to."

Interested, Blake came and bent over his shoulder. He fed the code to Tarrant, his voice a little reluctant as if he fought the remnants of programming, or as if his resentment ran deep. When Tarrant had devised a message, he signed it with his name--rather flamboyant of him, but something Avon might expect. When he closed down the system, he felt more hopeful that they could contact the _Liberator_ than he had before.

But then his eyes fell upon Blake and he hesitated. Blake needed help, and Tarrant wasn't optimist enough to believe the sight of Avon would be enough. There was still a long way to go.

*** *** ***

+I have some information for you,+ Orac announced suddenly, causing Vila to jump and squeak, called abruptly from a pleasant dream in which a team of elaborately--if scantily--clad dancing girls had been appointed to Vila's harem by royal decree. Reluctantly he turned his back on the lovely image and sat up in the medical unit chair. Avon hadn't stirred. Cally had informed Vila that Avon was sleeping when the thief had come to take his turn at watch, and he'd slept for hours. Surely that neural paralyzer or whatever it was should have worn off by now.

"What is it, Orac?" asked Vila.

+It could be a serious problem. I have received a similar message to the one which summoned us to Terminal. It is routed through a series of relays and employs the same codes that deceived us before. +

"Servalan!" Vila burst out in alarm. "She's got away and she's after us again. But she's a fool to think we'll fall for those old traps. Even I know better than that. Erase it, Orac, there's a good chap."

+I do not think so. Kindly pay attention, Vila. That message was a voice link, which could be used to match Blake's voice pattern. This is a keyed in code. Moreover,+ the computer added, sounding very surprised, +It does not claim to come from Roj Blake at all.+

"Oh, no?" Vila asked, beginning to get interested. "Servalan herself?"

+No. This message would appear to come from Del Tarrant.+

Vila stared at Orac for a full fifteen seconds, his mouth dropped open. "It's Blake's code, but it's from Tarrant?" he repeated doubtfully.

+Exactly. Blake devised a code before he left the _Liberator_ , enabling him to contact this ship, should he be cut off. A wise precaution. It would appear that Servalan gained that information from him when he was sent to Reyallen, and used it against this ship. But now, the same code is once again in use. I can track it several relays and will eventually be able to trace it to its source. Such capabilities are beyond any other computer in the Federated worlds.+

"But Tarrant's _dead_ ," Vila protested.

+His body was never found.+

"Of course it wasn't found, you lump of spare parts. It went into the lava." He shuddered. "There wouldn't have been anything to find."

+I see no point in speculating Tarrant's fate. The message claims to come from him.+

"What else does it say?" Vila asked suspiciously. Mysterious messages from dead men did not appeal to him at all.

+'Tarrant' claims to have encountered Blake and Jenna. He wishes a rendezvous with the _Liberator_.+

"Oh. Is that all?" Vila's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Blake had escaped from Reyallan after all. A careful study of the planetary records had discovered a listing in an obscure file, claiming that a number of unaligned ships--for that read non-Federation--had made a strafing run on the base headquarters. There had been little damage, and there seemed no purpose in such a raid. The ships could have destroyed the base but had not bothered. Patrols had doubled for the next six months, easing shortly before the _Liberator_ 's arrival. But the time of the raid matched the reports of Jo and the Green Terrors man, of Blake's supposed disappearance. Perhaps the raid on the base had been cover under which a ship had landed to retrieve Blake.

And who better to arrange such a thing than Jenna Stannis, who had contacts among smugglers everywhere? Free traders, he corrected mentally, remembering Jenna's opinions on the subject. It she'd rendezvoused with Blake after they'd abandoned the _Liberator_ , she might have been unable to prevent Blake's capture. But nothing could have prevented her from attempting a rescue. She might manage to raise a big enough free trader fleet to harass ReyaIlen long enough to get in, get Blake, and get out again. Blake could easily be alive, and with Jenna.

But where did Tarrant come into the picture?

"Orac," Vila said seriously, "Can you verity it's Tarrant?"

+Not without careful study. It has also come to my attention that encrypted messages without the recognition code have been circulating for over a week. As I was instructed by Avon to concentrate exclusively upon the Reyallen mission, I merely recorded such messages for further study. Analysis now reveals that these messages also claim to be the work of Del Tarrant.+

"Then he's _alive_?" Vila asked, staring wide-eyed.

+The chance of Del Tarrant surviving has increased to 77% with the continuation of such messages. Servalan was informed that Tarrant was dead. She would deem it futile to lure you in with such a useless ploy, were she behind this.+

"Then Blake has met up with Tarrant?"

+Really! Such speculation has little basis in fact.+

"It _has_ basis in fact," Vila insisted. "Tarrant's using Blake's code to contact us. Where would he have got it if not from Blake.?" He gulped. "From Servalan?"

+That is one possibility. Another is Jenna. Though she was not in possession of the code when she left the _Liberator_ , she could have acquired it from Blake at a later date. This will require further speculation, Vila.+

"Then speculate." Vila leaned forward and pulled out the key. Messages from Tarrant now. What would be next?

"Vila?"

He jumped, looking over at Avon, who had lain like a great lump through the entire conversation. But now, he shifted abruptly, biting off a groan. His body started to thrash about, and Vila let out an alarmed yelp.

"Avon! What's wrong?"

"Cramp," Avon bit out. "Jarrel warned me--" His voice chopped off and he tried to clutch at his leg.

"Let me." Vila hopped forward and felt for the cramp in Avon's calf. He set to work massaging it out, his fingers deft and skillful. Avon's body slowly relaxed only to tighten up again as another cramp attacked his arm.

Vila was kept busy for a good twenty minutes, easing various cramped and twisted muscles, and at the end of it, Avon was flushed and sweating but relaxed. He lay back cautiously. "I lack energy, Vila," he admitted. "Your rescue was not before time."

"Oh, but it was very well timed," Vila objected. "Orac says that Federation medic knew his stuff. It was to everyone's advantage to let him finish before we came for you. Your shoulder's healing well. No, don't put your clumsy great hand on it. Leave it alone. The pad'll take care of it."

Avon had drawn back when he encountered the healing pad fastened in place. "I heard you talking to Orac," he said. "Something regarding Tarrant?"

"Oh. That."

"Yes. That. Vila, I insist upon an explanation."

"Well, I don't know what Cally would say." But when Avon favored him with a near-lethal glare, he surrendered. "She'd probably say keeping secrets did no one any good. Orac's picked up a message that claims to be from Tarrant."

" _What_!"

"But here's the best part. It's in Blake's private code. The same one that got the message through that Servalan rigged. Only we--Orac and I--can't think why she'd want to use Tarrant's name when she knows he's dead. So--maybe he isn't dead?" he finished hopefully.

"And in his resurrection, he mysteriously acquired Blake's code?" Avon asked with withering sarcasm. "Use what intellect you possess, Vila. Tarrant is dead. The message is yet another trap. Perhaps it was sent out before Tarrant's death."

"When he was supposed to be safe on the _Liberator_?" Vila asked skeptically. "She'd have no reason to send a message from Tarrant, before he died or after. The only reason anyone would send a message from Tarrant would be if they knew he was no longer on the _Liberator_. And since there wasn't any body to find on Caston, that has to mean he's alive. Doesn't it?"

"I question your reasoning," Avon replied. "But perhaps I am still sedated, for I admit I find some logic in it. What else did the message say?"

"That he was--um--with Blake."

Avon's face froze up. "With Blake?" he echoed in a voice that held wary skepticism--and dawning hope. He must still be shaky to allow it to show.

"Yes. And Jenna."

"Oh, and Jenna, too. Remarkable, Vila. I hope you told Orac to erase it."

"I did, but he wouldn't. Said it could be genuine. There's a 77% chance Tarrant's alive after all. I think we should go and see."

"Oh, you think it, do you. No. We will take no such foolish risk. That is final, Vila."

"Is it? Who gave _you_ the only vote? That was what went wrong on Terminal, you deciding everything for yourself. We won't go in unless Orac says it's safe, but let's check it. Besides," he added slyly, "We need a pilot. If Orac's right, we'll get two. And Blake."

"Blake may not want to return to the _Liberator_ ," Avon replied. "The Federation doctor claimed he'd been conditioned to distrust me."

"Conditioning can be undone. I've broke conditioning before--and so has Blake. But we can't do it until we get him back."

"I'm tired, Vila," Avon said. "Go away. You needn't stay here."

"Cally said I was to stay until you woke up," Vila argued.

"Vila. I have awakened. Go away."

"It won't change things about Blake if I go away. Getting him back is the only thing to do. And Tarrant too. I wonder how he met up with Blake. Can you picture them together?" Vila smiled at the thought. "Or better yet, Tarrant and Jenna? They'd be rivals. I don't think they'd get along at all."

That won him an amused look. Avon heaved a sigh. "Very well, Vila," he said. "Orac may continue its search. But at the first sign of treachery, we are abandoning the search, even if it proves to be Blake."

"You'd just leave him?" Vila asked skeptically.

"Yes."

Vila didn't believe it. What was more, he suspected Avon didn't believe it himself. Better not to say so. Avon had been upset about Blake's lack of trust when he'd been teleported up. Of course he was under the influence of medication then and didn't know what he was saying. But that didn't make it any less true.

Hiding a smile, Vila stuck Orac's activator into place again. "Orac. It's official. We're going to see what the message is all about. Check it for us, there's a good chap."

+Your instructions are redundant, as such a check is already under way. Kindly do not interrupt further.+

Vila made a face at the computer and turned back to Avon, but the tech was sleeping again. The thief sat watching him for a long time, then, finally, he smiled and shook his head.

*** *** ***

In spite of Vila's speculations to the contrary, Jenna and Tarrant were finding remarkably little to argue about. _Moonwind_ needed both of them, so there was no competition except of a friendly sort. They tried to show each other up whenever possible, but there were no hard feelings behind it. Jenna had been genuinely pleased when Tarrant had gone in against the pursuit ships, impressed by his competent and skillful handling of a ship that was not yet entirely familiar to him. She also respected his determination to go to the rescue of the rebel ship, though she'd been annoyed at first because of the strain it put on Blake.

Blake seemed a little better since then. He was still edgy and he tended to wallow in his guilt, but the fact that he hadn't lost his nerve during the fight helped him. His strength of will was beginning to reassert itself, and Jenna, who had been careful to avoid threatening situations, started to wonder if she would have done better to pitchfork him into crisis after crisis to let him see he could manage. Even when they'd gone down and saved Tarrant, they'd waited until the pursuit ships were gone before making their approach.

But Tarrant wouldn't sit back and take things easy. His way was to rush in quickly, determined to do what needed doing. Sometimes he charged ahead too rashly, but she respected his instincts if not his recklessness. He had gone charging in to help Blake when he'd had the nightmare, and he'd not hesitated to bail out the fleeing rebels. Then, afterwards, he'd stood up to Blake when he needed it. Jenna had been inclined to sympathy, but she'd spent the past ten months trying to put Blake back together again. Tarrant found him nearly well and insisted on shoving him the rest of the way. From the way Blake had responded, he had needed the push.

Jenna enjoyed watching Tarrant when Avon was mentioned. Those two arrogant types were hardly likely to be comfortable together. She imagined them taking diametrically opposed views whenever they could. But should Blake say something even remotely derogatory about Avon, Tarrant defended him automatically. He was loyal, she had to give him that.

Of course he was so irritatingly _young_ , so certain that he had all the answers, so positive that he could do no wrong. But Jenna had to smile, for she had been much the same at his age. A good pilot, no, a great pilot knew his or her worth. It took age and maturity to learn how to take that certainty for granted and not need to prove it so constantly.

Since the battle, Tarrant had stopped flinging it in her face. Or maybe since the message had been sent to the _Liberator_. The young man missed the ship, even more than she did. Her love of the _Liberator_ was all tied up with her feelings for Blake. Tarrant's was a pure love of the ship.

She looked across her small flight deck now to see Blake and Tarrant bent over a chessboard, tensions and rivalries abandoned for the sake of the game. Both of them played well, but neither had Avon's brilliance or Vila's instinctive genius for the game. In fact Blake had remarked cheerfully, "You're a good chess partner, Tarrant. You won't wipe the board with me as Avon does."

"He does have a kind of smug certainty that he can't be beaten," Tarrant replied. "Sometimes I'd like to ram the pieces down his throat. But it's natural to lose to Avon. He's so bloody smart it comes naturally to him. What really galls me is losing to Vila."

"Vila's good," Blake agreed. "I've seen him beat Avon on occasion. In fact he once tied the Klute at Freedom City at Speed Chess."

" _Vila_ did?" asked Tarrant in astonishment.

Blake laughed aloud. "Of course he had Orac's help. He and Avon convinced Orac to reduce its size and they snuck it into The Big Wheel."

"Tell me more," Tarrant encouraged, his eyes kindling with amusement, and he leaned back in his chair listening, chuckling at all the pertinent moments. Jenna watched them tolerantly, remembering how irritated Blake had been when he had learned that Avon and Vila had defied his orders and gone down to Freedom City while they were meant to remain on watch.

Now he was laughing, remembering Avon and laughing. That was a good sign.

She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Blake's conscious reactions to Avon were all positive. It was his instinctive ones that were less than favorable. Still, this mood could be encouraged. She had plunged into the conversation, reminding Blake of other incidents until the two men became too caught up in their game to listen.

It had been over a week since the coded message had been sent to Orac, but as yet there had been no response. When Blake thought of it, he grew angry, retorting that Avon truly didn't care, that in spite of Tarrant's insistence to the contrary, Avon had never searched for him. "He went through the motions, Jenna. Cally and Vila expected it of him."

"I never noticed Avon going out of his way to live up to other people's expectations," she replied a little tartly. "You know better than that. I never thought I'd defend Avon. He always irritated me, though I respect his skills. But you aren't being fair. You've probably been conditioned to distrust him. Each time you find fault with him, you strengthen Federation programming. It's not your way to give up. Don't start with Avon. I used to envy the attention you gave him so easily, but you thrived on attention from him. What's more, Blake, you gave each other balance. When your enthusiasms got out of hand, he restrained you, and when he was too cynical, you could reach him when no one else could."

"That was a long time ago," Blake had replied resentfully. "It can happen again."

"Do you think he can forgive me for going missing?" Blake asked. "He would have looked. I know he would have done that. But when he didn't find me, he would start resenting me."

"Then he'll learn what happened. Just talk to him, Blake."

But he had changed the subject.

Now she watched him bent over the chessboard, intent in his concentration as Tarrant moved his bishop thoughtfully. Odd that the rash young man could play chess with such restraint.

Suddenly a beeping began on the communications console. Jenna jumped, recognizing the alarm set to react to contact from Orac. She leaped for it, beating the two men by a second or two. Punching the recall button, she watched words appear on the screen.

+Identify yourselves.+

"Orac," she burst out. "You do it, Tarrant. You were there most recently. You can prove your identity."

He sat down at the keyboard and typed in, "Hello, Orac. It's been a long time. This is Tarrant."

There was a brief time lag. +I will require proof of identity.+

"Ask your questions," Tarrant typed in, his face alight. "And remember, we want proof, too."

+Well, really! Who else but I could manage this communication? My skills alone enable us to communicate. If you are indeed Del Tarrant, you will describe the events leading to your supposed death.+

Tarrant keyed in a brief description of the event, including the day it had taken place, the planet where he had become separated from the _Liberator_ and the conversation he'd had with Vila before the troopers had interrupted them. It would not be word for word, but it would be close enough for Vila to recognize.

There was a long pause while Orac relayed the information to the thief for verification. When communication resumed, it was slightly more friendly. +That is confirmed, Tarrant. State your present situation, your companions and your location.+

Tarrant looked up at Blake. "Well? What do you want me to tell them?"

"Hold off on our position for the moment. Warn them I might have experienced conditioning on Reyallen. They'd best be warned about that. I want to return to the _Liberator_ , but not if I'll endanger the others."

Tarrant nodded. "We have a slight problem, Orac, and you might be best suited to correct it. You have dealt with Federation conditioning before. We may need it again. I am on Jenna's ship with Blake and Jenna. Blake was, for a time, a prisoner on Reyallen. He experienced conditioning there. At first we thought it was not very serious, but we're not sure. He's been holding off taking any risks against the Federation--lost his nerve. And he seems to believe Avon deliberately left him there."

+That information is already known to us,+ Orac returned surprisingly. +Servalan revealed information to us recently which enabled us to trace Blake as far as Reyallen. We have just come from there. Avon was injured in a failed rescue attempt.+

Blake paled. "Avon went to Reyallen?" he echoed in disbelief. "Ask how badly he was hurt?" The concern in his voice sounded genuine.

"Blake asks how Avon is now," Tarrant typed in. "He's concerned."

+Avon expresses doubt of the concern. He was wounded in the shoulder. The injury is not entirely well, but he has left the medical unit--against Cally's advice.+

"He would," muttered Jenna.

Orac continued. +I was present when Avon was rescued from Reyallen. He had been given a drug to induce paralysis for the surgical procedure. The surgeon informed him of Blake's present views. The effect was rather devastating.+

"Orac actually sounds worried," Tarrant remarked. "I wonder who got round it. Probably Cally." He caught Blake's eye. "Any comments, Blake?"

"Tell him we are prepared to rendezvous. They can name the rendezvous site." He was silent a moment, then added, "Tell them I'm fighting it." He turned to Jenna and smiled at her, draping an arm over her shoulders. He seemed more like himself than he had since before Reyallen.

Tarrant nodded and keyed it in.

Rendezvous was set in the Cellan system in forty eight hours. It would take _Moonwind_ most of that time to reach the rendezvous spot. _Liberator_ would have time to get into position and await them, but that wasn't a threat.

"Well," said Jenna when contact was broken. "I'll leave you to set the coordinates, Tarrant. I'm going to have my dinner. Blake?"

"I'll be along. Tarrant and I have a game to complete."

She looked at him sharply. Contact with the _Liberator_ had made him enthusiastic. Some of the fire that had burned in him when she had first met him in the holding cell back on Earth flamed in his eyes once more. He looked determined to fight the programming and overcome it. She wondered if they had thought of everything, and if they hadn't, what steps to take to prevent a tragedy.

But maybe she needn't worry. Avon would expect trouble, prepare himself for it, and await it armed and ready.

*** *** ***

Cally ran an extra-range scan and nodded to herself as Zen detected an approaching ship. It was too far away for standard identification, but Zen reported that it was not a pursuit ship. Its course was directly for the Cellan system, and it would arrive in two hours.

"Two hours," Dayna echoed nervously. "It's hard to believe Tarrant's really alive." Further contact with Jenna's ship had explained the pilot's survival. "It's a good thing Blake was looking for the _Liberator_. Tarrant would probably still be stranded there if he hadn't gone down to investigate."

"Funny about that base, though," Vila remarked.

"Not funny at all," Avon replied, entering the flight deck. "l have received word that Servalan's presidency has been overthrown. A bloodless coup. She is declared outlaw and may be killed on sight. Those ships were part of a contingency plan by her successor. Hearing of her actions in the sector where we found Terminal, he prepared a temporary base to set a watch on her. When the fleet that accompanied her to Terminal returned to Earth to allow us to approach the planet unsuspecting, the flotilla on Caston went after them, believing Servalan on the flagship. "When she did not return to Earth, the new President, Benzer, took the initiative, reported her absence, claimed suspicious circumstances and treasonous acts. We have a new President. Unless Servalan escapes from Terminal and reinstates herself, the game will be different from this point."

"I only wish she knew she'd been overthrown," Dayna replied. "l don't suppose we could return and tell her--just before we killed her?"

"We could leak her location to Space Command," Vila replied. "They'd tell her, and then they'd kill her."

"She came out of Space Command," Avon reminded him. "She will still have adherents there. Space Command is not solidly behind Benzer. In fact, if Blake is prepared to act, now might be a good time to take advantage of the situation."

"You--supporting Blake's cause?" Vila asked in disbelief.

"Perhaps it has some advantage. I learned that on Reyallen, Vila. It was not an experience I should care to repeat." He sat down on the horseshoe couch, shifting to ease his shoulder, which was still tender. Avon refused to admit to pain, even when any idiot would know he was hurting.

Respecting his privacy, Cally ran another scan. "Blake is still on course," she informed Avon. "Considering the ship is piloted by Jenna or Tarrant, I had no doubt of that."

"Paying them compliments?" Vila asked brightly. "I'll be sure to let them know."

"A pilot that skilled may be rare, but not irreplaceable, Vila."

"Unlike a thief of my caliber?"

"Only when said thief lacks an ego of your caliber," Avon returned with some relish.

Cally hoped his enthusiasm lasted past Blake's first evidence of resentment. She could not help knowing how desperately Avon wanted Blake back. Avon might not know it, or admit it if he did, but his determined pursuit of Blake had proven it, and that stricken voice when he was drugged, protesting Blake's lack of trust, had torn at her heart. If Blake's programming could not be removed, it could destroy both men.

"How do we handle the rendezvous?" she asked practically when Avon and Vila seemed prepared to start one of their famous arguments.

"Two of us will teleport over with spare bracelets," Avon reported. "Jenna can maneuver her ship into the hold without assistance. It will allow us to verify Orac's report."

"Who'll go?" Vila asked.

"I will go," Avon replied. "And I will take Dayna with me."

No one disagreed. They sat waiting, speculating about changes in the Federation now that Servalan was no longer an immediate threat. None of them believed her gone permanently. Vila offered the theory that Servalan had not trapped herself on a remote planet with a defective vessel. There had been no guarantee the _Liberator_ would take the bait.

"She left that old ship to trap us, convince us it was the only way off the planet. Then she probably put explosives all over it. But what if we hadn't come? Her fleet was some distance away. She wouldn't leave herself to the mercy of the links. Maybe she had another ship there, hidden some distance off."

Avon had frozen into stillness as Vila expounded his theory, then he breathed, "Yes. Why didn't I see that?"

No one replied. The answer seemed obvious to Cally. His thoughts were so caught up with Blake's 'death' that he had been unable to reason past it.

"You would have done if we'd been stranded there," Dayna replied. "You don't leave things undone."

"It seems I left this unreasoned. If correct, she will be at liberty."

"Outlawed and pursued, with a price on her head," replied Dayna with some satisfaction.

"She did have one advantage," said Cally. "We knew her. We understood her tactics. We know nothing of Benzer. He may feel the need to defeat us even more strongly than Servalan did."

"Or he may feel she was obsessed with us. Since Star One, we have been more of a propaganda threat than a political threat," argued Dayna. "It depends on Benzer's priorities. We can put Orac onto researching him."

"I've done that." Avon smiled around the flight deck as if to remind them how clever he was.

It was not ten minutes later that they received their first transmission from the _Moonwind_. "Hello, _Liberator_ , it's good to see you again."

"Tarrant," Vila burst out with an excited bounce. When Cally opened the channel, he raised his voice and said, "I might have known a clumsy oaf like you would find a ledge to fall on."

"At least I saved your life, Vila," Tarrant reminded him.

"It's good to hear your voice, Vila," came Jenna's voice over the speaker. "We've been looking for you a long time."

"Welcome, Jenna," Cally responded. "Blake? Are you there as well?"

"I'm here, Cally. It's good to be back. Avon?"

"Blake?" The tech's voice was cautious and wary, but Cally could hear the satisfaction in his quiet tones.

"I hope you've been warned I might behave erratically until Orac can work on me. It's not personal. If I do anything I'll regret, I apologize in advance."

"Small consolation, Blake, should you do it with a hand blaster," Avon replied.

"Nothing so permanent, Avon. Besides, my two pilots have made a concerted effort to keep me and weapons apart."

" _Your_ two pilots?" Avon asked skeptically. "I rather thought one of them was _mine_."

"Why, thank you, Avon," Tarrant purred smoothly.

Avon ignored that. "Dayna and I will teleport across with bracelets and bring you back here. Jenna, do you want to dock your ship or have Tarrant do it?"

"It's my ship; I'll do it."

"I could bring it in on remote," he offered.

"I know you could, but I'll pass. How soon will you be over?"

Avon checked the readings. "Fifteen minutes."

The interval was passed in chatting back and forth between the two ships, everyone catching up on what had passed since they had last met. Cally described the events at Terminal briefly enough, without going into the more grisly details. Dayna added for good measure that Servalan had been caught in her own trap, but Vila reminded them she might have got away.

"It will do her scant good." Avon replied and reported the current political situation. "The troops that attacked you, Tarrant, were, we theorize, part of the plan against Servalan. They followed her part of the way to Terminal and waited, prepared to report in should she return too early and thwart the plan. When she sent her flotilla home, the one on Caston followed it."

"We wondered," Blake said. "The only good thing that came out of it is that they left in time for us to rescue Tarrant."

"If you call that a good thing," Avon responded.

"Oh. I don't know, Avon. I find him quite tolerable."

"You would, Blake. You always acted without thought yourself. Perhaps you have found in his reckless nature a kindred spirit."

"Here now," Tarrant objected in high good humor. "Must you talk about me as if I wasn't here?"

"I think Blake's been bad for him," Vila interjected.

"But he's been good for me," Blake returned.

"Blake's right," agreed Jenna, and Cally exchanged a surprised look with Avon. They had never expected the two pilots to get on.

Blake and Avon spoke to each other quite normally, but as time passed, Cally began to sense an edge in Blake's voice she'd not heard before. Avon was aware of it as well. His face was impassive and he spoke to Blake as if there had been no separation. No, that was wrong. He spoke as if Blake's final declaration of trust before the battle had been taken in good faith. None of the ruthless need to be rid of Blake that he'd professed before they reached Star One was evident in his voice. But neither did he lower his guard. He behaved as if Blake were trustworthy enough--for a stranger. They were too polite to each other. Even their familiar disagreements seemed labored.

Cally heaved a sigh. Avon was quite capable of making this as difficult as possible, and Blake had no choice. She wondered if she should go over instead of Dayna, but Avon wore his you'd-better-not-cross-me expression. She decided to wait and see.

*** *** ***

Dayna looked around the flight deck of the _Moonwind_ when she and Avon materialized there, saw Tarrant, and looked no further. Before he quite realized what she had in mind, she flung herself across the room and into his arms. "Don't you ever frighten us like that again," she ordered as he hugged her back, laughing.

Her spontaneous action eased some of the tension. As she separated from Tarrant, she saw Avon's face, a little too pale, his mouth slightly open as he stared at the man who had to be the legendary Roj Blake. Dayna hadn't expected his hair to be so short or that he would wear a mustache, and evidently, neither had Avon. The scar at one corner of his eye was new too; at least it looked fairly recent. Probably a souvenir of Reyallen. He looked thinner than he should; Vila had described Blake to her before she came over, and this man was almost gaunt. His eyes were shadowed, but they warmed when they fell upon Avon.

Dayna turned back to Avon and saw a similar thaw in his own eyes. This meeting had been so long awaited she wouldn't have been surprised it Avon had violated his touch-me-not rules and actually hugged the man he'd sought. But Avon didn't. Instead he stood there, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth--and the depths of his eyes. "Hello, Blake," he said.

Jenna--every bit as pretty as Vila had claimed--stood beside Blake, her stance suggesting protectiveness and possession. No one had better dare interfere with Blake while she was by, or they'd quickly learn the consequences. She put a restraining hand on Blake's arm.

Dayna wondered if she should put one on Avon's. After all, it was her job to protect Avon; that was why he'd chosen her to come with him. Cally was a skilled guerilla fighter but she wasn't ruthless enough, and she also knew Blake. Her loyalties might be divided. Dayna's wouldn't. She backed Avon and that was that. With a faint smile of apology to Tarrant, she took up her position at Avon's side.

"A bodyguard, Avon?" Blake asked lightly.

"You did warn me I might be at risk."

"At risk?" echoed Blake, and then he lost it. "At _risk_? What risk? Safe on _Liberator_ while I waited for you on that hellhole. You don't know what risk means." He started forward and Dayna shot a quick glance at his hands to make sure they were devoid of weapons before moving to intercept him.

He gripped her by the shoulders and moved her aside as if she weighed nothing at all, then he took one of his empty hands, curled it into a fist, and swung it at Avon's face. Dayna leaped for him and grabbed him by the arm, only to be pulled forward by the sheer momentum of the blow.

It caught Avon on the jaw, and rocked him back on his heels. An astonished look flitted across his face so quickly Dayna wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it, then, even as his eyes started to roll back up in his head, he clamped down on his expression and collapsed slowly backward.

Dayna astonished herself by jerking Blake around and copying his gesture furiously.

Blake staggered but he didn't fall. Instead he shook his head to clear it, then his face crumpled as if he might cry. "Avon!" he burst out and pulled free once more, kneeling at Avon's side. Tarrant lunged forward one step ahead of Jenna and they each took one of Blake's arms.

He didn't fight them. Instead he looked at the unconscious Avon with consternation and dismay. "I never meant..." he began.

"I hope his wound hasn't broken open," Dayna said sharply. "Move aside, Blake."

He drew back at once. "I didn't mean it, Dayna. It must have been the programming."

"Convenient," she snapped, checking Avon's pulse. It was regular. She suspected he would come out of it very soon--fighting mad.

"It isn't his fault, Dayna," Tarrant insisted. He looked thoroughly upset. "Avon was warned."

"He didn't expect it to come out of the blue like that. We won't dare let Blake near a gun. I'll have to warn Zen."

"Put me in restraints if that will satisfy you, Dayna," Blake said tonelessly, his shoulders slumping. "If I've hurt him--"

"He got that wound looking for _you_ on Reyallen," she said fiercely. "Your damned programming isn't very practical."

Avon stirred and groaned. Everyone leaned forward, and when he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by a sea of faces. Instinctively he drew back, then he pushed them aside and sat up, rubbing his jaw.

"I'm sorry, Avon," Blake offered. "It wasn't me."

"Then it was someone who looked exactly like you," Avon returned. "After this, I will take your warning seriously, Blake. Are there any other charming little defects of which I should be made aware?"

"Well, I've a tendency to run from a fight," Blake confessed miserably. "Tarrant had to force me into battle to rescue a rebel ship from three pursuit ships."

"If that means we won't go rushing into danger without thought, there could be some advantage," Avon returned coolly. Blake winced.

"And if _that_ means you plan to spend the next year blaming yourself for things beyond your control, I foresee a charming time will be had by all. Your capacity for guilt is exceeded only by your ability to get into trouble, Blake."

"Or yours to avoid it?"

"I seem to be doing rather badly at that, Blake." He was silent a long moment while everyone else held his breath. Then he added, "Servalan told me she'd seen you killed on Jevron."

Blake started, his eyes flying to Avon's face. Dayna could read nothing unusual, but Blake must have seen something more, for he flushed and dropped his eyes. "Then I'm doubly sorry, Avon. All I ask is a little time and the use of Orac. It planned to deprogram me at the time of the Atlay debacle."

"And did," Jenna replied, "Once the control was gone. I'll volunteer to assist you again, a fact for which you should be duly grateful."

"And the sooner we begin, the better," Tarrant replied. "If I can help, I will, too."

So he'd got on well with Blake and Jenna. Dayna wasn't very impressed, but then she had hardly seen them at their best. Yet Avon was regarding Blake without the hostility she had expected, and neither did he look as if he considered himself betrayed. Perhaps he refused to give Servalan a victory. Or maybe any Blake was better than none at all.

Blake was the one who stretched out a hand to help Avon to his feet, and Avon took it without hesitation and only a little wariness. He winced as he rose, and Blake moved forward in alarm. "I didn't hurt your wound?" he ventured.

"No. It is not yet completely healed." Avon would have resented the question from anyone else, but there was no resentment in his voice. It was simply a statement of fact, one that required no sympathy, no mollycoddling, in fact, no response.

Blake seemed to know that. "I'd like to see the _Liberator_ again," he said. "Could we go across now?"

"Do you want me to come over with you?" Jenna asked.

"And leave _Moonwind_ to Del's tender mercies?" Blake smiled at her. "No, it's all right. I'll be quite safe with Avon."

Avon shot him a mildly affronted look but didn't protest.

"Avon," said Dayna, "will be quite safe with _me." She_ passed bracelets to Tarrant and Blake, who fastened them into place around their wrists.

"Why, Dayna," Tarrant remarked with a grin. "I don't think he knew you cared."

"Volcanoes seem to agree with you," she told him, raising her bracelet. "All right, you two, you can stop panicking now and bring us over."

Blake looked around the teleport section with something like relief, startled out of his scrutiny when Vila popped up from behind the controls and launched himself forward, hugging the man. "Hallo, Blake," he said, his eyes missing nothing. "Bruised knuckles, is it? What have you been using for target practice?" His eyes went knowingly to Avon's jaw, where a bruise was beginning to darken.

Blake flinched. Startled, Vila drew back, reappraising the situation, then he turned to Tarrant.

"If you mean to hug me, Vila, you can pass," Tarrant replied.

"Well, I wasn't, then." The thief made a face at him, but clapped him on the back. "And you might warn a man when you mean to resurrect yourself. When Orac said he'd heard from you, I was quite startled."

"An understatement," Avon observed, removing his teleport bracelet. Dayna noticed he'd done it without turning his back on Blake. "You're quite startled when someone relieves you at the end of your watch."

"And now that everybody's back, I'll have fewer watches," Vila remarked with glee. "Cally's on the flight deck to supervise Jenna's approach. The bay doors should be open by now."

They went to the flight deck, where Cally was talking to Jenna over the comm link. She broke off to hug first Blake and then Tarrant. Both men seemed to enjoy it.

"There seems to be an excess of sentiment around here," Avon observed.

"You're simply upset because no one hugged _you_ ," Vila said knowingly.

"You weren't there. How do you know?"

"You settled for fighting," Vila remarked. "Pity. A few good hugs would do you all the good in the world."

"I should doubt that."

He was in a better mood than Dayna had expected, but he looked sideways at Blake, who wasn't likely to hug him. The rebel returned the look but didn't move.

+Welcome, Roj Blake,+ Zen said abruptly with what sounded like genuine pleasure. +Welcome, Del Tarrant. Your absence has been regretted.+

Avon turned to stare at Zen's fascia in some surprise. So Zen had missed them. Dayna grinned. She had always liked Zen.

"We regretted it as well," Blake replied. "It's good to be home, Zen."

"That it is," agreed Tarrant.

They watched on the main screen as Jenna maneuvered _Moonwind_ effortlessly into the open bay. "That ship will be useful," Tarrant added. "There are times when the _Liberator_ is a bit conspicuous. _Moonwind_ might do for checking on Servalan."

They considered that. If Servalan were still on Terminal, she would not suspect the arrival of an unfamiliar ship. She might try to bargain with them, only to learn too late that it was the _Liberator_ crew. Dayna liked the idea.

*** *** ***

Avon led the way into the medical unit, followed by Blake, Jenna, Cally and Tarrant. Vila and Dayna had been left behind to set a course for Terminal.

The sooner this was completed the better. Eyeing Blake narrowly, Avon watched the rebel approach the bed. It was evident that Blake wanted his conditioning removed as much as Avon did.

+Very well, Blake, we shall begin the procedure,+ Orac remarked. +You may remember little of the prior attempt, but sensor links will be attached and you will be asked to recall the events on Reyallen. Kindly remove your shirt.+

Blake froze. "I'm certain that was not necessary the last time."

Interesting. Blake had never displayed any particular modesty before. Avon regarded the man he had sought with a slight frown.

+At that time, a specific tone was being used to induce a particular state. To test you against the tone required little effort. As we do not know particular triggers in this instance, a heart monitor will be attached as well as the cranial sensor links. Please cooperate quickly. My time is valuable.+

Blake sought out Jenna's eyes, and she nodded slightly. Tarrant gave Blake a supportive pat on the arm. Avon's frown deepened as he considered that particular alliance.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, Blake stripped off his shirt, being careful not to turn his back on the rest of them and started to lie down. He had to turn a little to sit down on the diagnostic bed, and Avon sucked in his breath in horror. Blake's back was a mass of scars. Jarrel's words came back to him abruptly. 'Gave him a good lashing first. Gave him a good lashing first.' He shuddered. "Blake..."

"Leave it, Avon," snapped Blake, a defensive note in his voice. "What did you expect, that I remain in perfect health down there?"

"A man named Jarrel...told me what had been done to you. I...meant to kill them for it, but when I revived, we had left the planet behind. I--" He broke off, seeking Blake's eyes. "I find I see some value in your Cause, after all." It was the truth, and Avon meant Blake to know it. That the others were here as well could not be allowed to matter, and it might mean more to Blake that way.

The bitterness was wiped from Blake's eyes as if by magic. "Avon!" he burst out in elation. "I always hoped for that."

"It is not in me to be a follower, Blake," Avon went on, determined to have his say. His eyes never left Blake's face. "However, I have long maintained that, should I choose to let myself be led, it would be by someone worthy of respect. Once this conditioning is removed, you and I have a great deal to discuss."

"I intend to hold you to that." Blake's eyes shone, and in spite of his pallor and physical condition, he seemed one hundred per cent better than he had when Avon first saw him.

"I should expect no less." Avon drew back to allow Cally to attach the leads, one on each temple and a third over his heart.

+Kindly do not interfere,+ Orac remarked. +This requires time and concentration. Blake. Pay attention. I wish you to think of Reyallen. Recall your treatment there. Recall any treatment performed at the orders of Servalan en route to Reyallen. Recall your attitudes as a result of such treatment. Concentrate.+

Blake's face tightened into a grimace, pain visible there as if under a spotlight. He shivered with the intensity of his memories and Avon was moved to go forward and reach out to steady him.

+Do not interfere, Avon!+ snapped Orac. +This test is necessary.+

Drawing back his hand abruptly, Avon glanced with some self-consciousness at the others, who seemed to be restraining similar impulses. He would need to watch himself in future. Blake tended to interfere with his defenses in a way he could not like. Yet he did not regret the offer of support. It irritated him. Such support would be bound to cause him grave personal risk. Yet, he thought with a smile, such risks had been taken from the moment he met Blake, and taken with no avowed commitment. This time, at least, his risks would arise out of a personal decision to make them rather than at the whim of others. By choosing as he had, he controlled his own destiny. Or rather, he thought with a sour smile--allowed Blake to take control.

"No," Blake muttered, stirring restlessly as Orac's continued instructions triggered some kind of response. "Never. I won't give it up. You can't make me forget again. No. Stop. Don't hurt me!" His whole body rocked, as with great pain, and suddenly he screamed. This time, Avon wasn't the only one who moved to help him.

+Wait!+ Orac ordered. +This is necessary.+

"Avon!" Blake cried out. "Where are you, Avon? Always before, I could count on you to get me out of the messes I got into. I need you, Avon. Where are you?"

The frantic plea stabbed him with a deeper pain than he had expected, and he stood helpless in the face of it, despising Blake's captors for inflicting such treatment on him, and himself for failing to locate Blake in time to prevent it. That there was nothing he could do only angered him. He was a fool to blame himself for something unpreventable. Such a ludicrous and emotional attitude could only lead to regret, but as Avon watched Blake, his anger deepened. When they had dealt with Servalan, they could go back and blast the Reyallen base out of existence. None of the others would disagree.

Blake whimpered and tried to hide his face in his hands. Then, he shuddered, his hands fell limply to his sides, and his eyes, which had been squeezed tightly shut, flew open. For a long time, he lay there, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, tears on his face. Then, with a resolute stiffening, he controlled himself. Seeking out Avon's eyes, he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, Avon."

+Remove the sensor links,+ Orac instructed.

Cally leaped forward to comply, and Tarrant was just behind her, passing Blake his shirt, and helping him on with it when he fumbled an attempt to slide an arm into a sleeve. Blake shot Tarrant a faint smile, nodded reassuringly at Jenna, then turned back to Avon. The tech went forward to stand facing Blake.

+This is most interesting,+ Orac announced.

"Tell us your findings," ordered Avon curtly. "And give us a time reference for eradication of conditioning."

+That will not be possible, I am afraid. Roj Blake has not been conditioned.+

In the stunned silence, everyone attempted to assimilate that information. Then Avon burst out, "But Jarrel said he'd been conditioned." He went silent a moment, remembering. "No," he breathed in shock. "He said they tried to condition you, tried to break you. He said you blamed me for not rescuing you. But he never said the conditioning had worked." He stared at Blake in a kind of helpless disbelief, unable to take it any further. Blake had lost his nerve, Tarrant had explained, describing the rebel ship that had sent out a distress signal. It need not be conditioning. It need only be a byproduct of the vicious treatment he had received from the Federation and his fellow prisoners. It could even be a kind of mental trauma, brought on by the shock of that experience.

Blake had realized that himself. His face had lost all color and his eyes seemed great, dark pits. "Avon..." he began helplessly, falling short when he could think of nothing to say.

"Explain, Orac," Avon ground out without turning away from Blake. They stood half a meter apart, eyes locked together, both of them shaken.

+It is rather simple. Blake is suffering from a kind of traumatic shock. Time, support and good care will ease the condition. He feels no hatred for you, Avon. But sometimes, the human mind requires a scapegoat. It would seem that, involuntarily, he has chosen you."

"l won't accept that," Blake snapped, suddenly defiant. "It would let them win. They couldn't condition me, you say. Yet I came away from there resenting my best friend." The claim of friendship was completely natural and believable. "They couldn't turn me against my Cause, but it amounts to the same thing. I won't accept it, Orac, no matter what you say."

+I did not say you need accept it, Blake. Simply that refusing to accept it would not be easy. Already you have improved a great deal. Had you found Avon and the _Liberator_ sooner, the condition would not have gained so much strength. Tarrant's insistence that Avon did search for you has helped you. I will show you records of the _Liberator_ 's searches for you, and, though Avon may resent it, he will describe for you the events leading up to and on the planet Terminal."

"Damn you, Orac," Avon snapped, then he caught himself. To go over his reaction to Servalan's announcement of Blake's supposed death was a violation of his privacy to a degree never previously permitted. To reveal that incident to Blake was to allow his relationship with the other man to change completely, to permit Blake to see things Avon seldom allowed himself to face. Yet what options did they have? Short of abandoning Blake completely, something Avon found intolerable, they had no choice. "Very well," he snarled. "Though it will not require an audience."

"Orac?" Cally prompted gently. "Is Avon in danger from Blake?"

+Unknown.+

Avon saw protest flash in Blake's eyes, and he began to unbuckle his gun belt. When he had removed it, he passed it to Blake, who took it blankly and stared at it as if he'd never seen a weapon before. "Put it on," Avon said levelly.

"But--"

"Put. It. On."

Blake obeyed, his fingers fumbling the buckle for a minute before he secured it in place. Avon noticed irrelevantly that he cinched it tighter than he'd been able to do before. He'd lost a great deal of weight.

When the weapon was secured, Avon went on relentlessly, "Take out the gun."

"Avon, no," Jenna breathed, and Tarrant placed himself at Blake's side as if prepared to catch his arm and deflect a shot, if Blake attempted one. But Blake drew the weapon, his face dead white.

"Point it at me," Avon continued inexorably.

Blake obeyed, standing before Avon. His hand trembled slightly and he stilled it with an effort of will.

"Now," Avon said smoothly, "Here I am. I abandoned you on Reyallen. I left you there to be tortured. What are you going to do about it? Shoot me?"

The knuckles in Blake's hand went white. His eyes caught Avon's again and he stared. For a long moment, everyone in the medical unit held his breath, perhaps even Orac. Then Blake flung the gun away from him, and it crashed against the edge of the diagnostic table before rebounding slightly on the end of its cord.

"My god, Avon, I can't kill you," Blake cried and flung his arms around the other man, collapsing against him. Afraid he would fall, Avon put his arms around the rebel to keep him on his feet. No, he admitted to himself with bitter honestly. He put his arms around Blake because he wanted to do it.

There was a collective sigh of relief as the others realized they were holding their breaths and let them out again. "How did you know, Avon?" Jenna asked.

"I knew Blake would not kill me," Avon replied.

"Did you?" Blake breathed into his ear. "I didn't."

"You don't kill for resentment, Blake. You brood on it, and you might take a swing at me, the way you did on _Moonwind_ , and you might occasionally hate me, but you won't kill me. You'll simply make my life miserable. I wanted the others--and you--to be convinced of it."

+You took a considerable risk, Avon,+ Orac announced. +Yet such a risk was warranted. Blake's feelings toward you are far from homicidal. In fact, they are...+

"Orac," Avon cut in, pushing Blake gently back against the table, where he sat down. "What are your recommendations for further treatment?"

+First, I recommend a vitamin solution to be administered several times daily. Blake's strength has never completely built up since his rescue from Reyallen. I will devise the appropriate solution and key it into the food processing unit. Secondly, it is necessary Blake spend time with Avon. You must talk to each other. I am certain there will be much to discuss. You must tell him about Terminal, Avon. Everything about Terminal. It is mandatory.+

Avon grimaced. To do so would make him far too vulnerable. But he looked at Blake. Better that than Blake remain so vulnerable. He was not certain he could deal with a Blake who wouldn't challenge him at every opportunity, who wouldn't match him at sarcasm, who wouldn't demand more of him than he was prepared to give. In order to get his Blake back, Avon was prepared to take risks. He didn't like it, but there was no other option.

The longer he waited, the harder it would become. Avon favored the others with an impartial scowl. "Then we begin now," he said. "The rest of you are no longer required."

"That's rather high handed of you," Jenna protested, glaring at Avon. Her resentment suddenly seemed much greater than Blake's. Perhaps it was. She had spent ten months with Blake and failed to bring him out of it. Perhaps she, too, chose to blame the tech for Blake's condition. It would be easier than blaming herself.

But Blake took her hand and smiled at her. "He's right, Jenna. I've left it too long already."

"I didn't want to push you too hard, Blake."

"I know, and I think you were right. I wasn't ready to be pushed before. But I am now. Avon pushes better than any man I know. Leave me with him. I trust him."

Something eased in Avon that he had not quite realized was tense. Even when he had claimed to scorn Blake, a part of him had valued that trust. He had never betrayed it, either, unless one counted the time he had sent a message to Servalan, informing her of Travis' presence on Exbar. But even then he had expected Servalan to have removed Travis and gone again before the _Liberator_ 's arrival, and he had gone down himself to back Blake when he realized they had arrived first. He might scorn some of Blake's plans and he might resist following the man, but once committed, he had not backed out. His word was his bond and the part of him that would never break an oath had valued Blake's trust, even while he loudly scorned the other man for being fool enough to offer it.

Cally gathered up the others and guided them toward the door. Only Orac remained, and Avon could get round Orac later.

When they were alone, he squared his shoulders and turned to face Blake.

The rebel was busy unbuckling the gunbelt. "I'll give this back to you, Avon. Your test worked, but I'd as soon not take any further risks."

"There was no risk."

"I admire your confidence."

That brought a faint smile to Avon's lips. "If only you knew," he murmured, winning a return smile from the other man. "I do not like this, Blake," Avon continued. "It has never been my way to leave myself open to other people."

"I think it was once, a long time ago," Blake replied gently. "I think you learned to protect yourself. I envied you that control when I was...on Reyallen."

Avon shook his head. "Never do that, Blake. It is...more of a burden than you know. There are times when I have envied you that great big bleeding heart of yours."

"I never knew that."

"No, because I wouldn't let myself know it." He grimaced. "I could have told you this was a bad idea."

"I don't think it is a bad idea, Avon." He finished doing up the fasteners of his shirt. "I think it might be just what the doctor ordered. I can't seem to find the resentment any more."

"Yet it's there. You called for me under Orac's probe."

"I was sure you'd come for me," Blake muttered. "The longer I stayed there, the more positive I became. It would only be one more day. I used to plan my revenge on my fellow convicts, insisting to myself that when you and the _Liberator_ came, we would blast them together. It was the only thing that kept me going, the certainty that you would come." He dropped his eyes.

"I would have come," Avon replied, "had I known you were there. We did go to Reyallen. I'm sure you know that now. We simply went too late. Servalan tempted us with rumors of you, but never gave us one clue to the truth. I came to--resent you, Blake, because you seemed so hard to find. I began to tell myself you stayed away deliberately, to insist I was well rid of you, and perhaps I believed it." It was almost painful to talk so openly, but Blake's eyes held his and wouldn't free him.

"If you believed it," Blake prodded with sudden gentleness, "Why did you go to Terminal?"

"At last, the message had come. It could have been genuine; both Orac and Zen confirmed that. Besides," he added with a sour smile, "'you' offered me something of great price that would make me wealthy and powerful. How could I stay away?"

"All too easily, I should think. Did you believe I needed to buy you, Avon?"

He shook his head. "No, I suspect I never really believed it was you. But there was a better chance than anything to date. I went in carefully, taking safeguards to protect the _Liberator_ and the crew. I told them I no longer needed them and tried to drive them away. Servalan assumed I did not want to share the wealth with them. A somewhat misguided assumption on her part, which I allowed her to keep. Of course she never knew of the _Liberator_ 's strong room. Without you to--er--keep me honest, there was nothing to stop me making off with that. It and the _Liberator_ \--away from Federated space--would have made me wealthy and powerful enough to ensure my complete safety."

Blake was listening in fascination. When Avon fell silent, he reached out and jogged Avon's arm. Though the others sometimes walked warily around the tech and respected his physical barriers, Blake had never hesitated to touch him, and, surprisingly enough, Avon had permitted it. He allowed it now, with just enough of a glare to keep in practice. He didn't want Blake, or anyone, thinking he'd grown soft.

"In fact, Blake, I wonder now it I'd gone a little mad. It seems incredible that I would risk everything for something so nebulous it held no guarantees of safety. But the message claimed to be from you. I resent the implications more than I can say, but the fact is that I didn't hesitate. I went.

"I must have seemed obsessed to the others. Vila overheard me 'conspiring' with Orac and became suspicious. This was immediately following Tarrant's supposed death. Tarrant wouldn't have been at peril if Orac had not become fascinated with the message Zen received from 'Blake'. Orac delayed teleport--and Tarrant came close to dying. Vila later confessed that, unwilling to stay alone, he had come to the flight deck in search of my dubious company and overheard me. As a result, he got at Orac the first chance he had and wound up saving all our lives. Remarkable, is it not?"

"Maybe not so remarkable. We have a habit of underestimating Vila."

"Which could not have arisen without some backing."

"Vila's changed. We all have."

Avon nodded. "I'm aware of that. In any case, Terminal proved a trap. But it took me some time to see that. Servalan had laid the groundwork well, conditioning me. She had set up an imager which showed me what she called a drug induced and electronic dream--you. I found you, I spoke to you. You were on life support, unable to withstand the teleport stress. Why you were prisoner on an empty planet never occurred to me. You were there." He heaved an impatient sigh. "I once told...someone that of all the things I was, I had never recognized the fool. It seems I was more right than I knew. For your sake, I forgot logic. When Servalan attempted to take the _Liberator_ , I did try to warn Vila off. I couldn't let her have the ship. I knew you were there and sending the ship away wouldn't change that. In fact, I could imagine your scorn if I came back and told you I'd handed her _Liberator_ on a platter. But she took it anyway. And that is when..." His voice trailed off. Even now he was reluctant to recall those moments.

"When?" prompted Blake in a very gentle voice.

"She told me you were dead," Avon returned flatly, dropping his eyes.

Blake was on his feet, gripping Avon's upper arms. "What did you do?" he asked carefully.

"I--nothing. I stood there. I protested that I had seen you. She found it amusing, Blake. She explained what she had done. She said she had seen you killed and cremated on the planet Jevron. I stood there listening to her... Orac, is this really necessary?"

+You know it is, Avon.+

Avon muttered a curse. "When Anna died, when I...killed her, Blake, I took off my teleport bracelet. Alone with Servalan, I took it off. She was distracted and I escaped, but I didn't welcome it. When--when I learned from Servalan that you had died, I lacked that symbolism. I no longer had a bracelet. But..." His halting voice trailed off. There was nothing more to say.

Blake made an impatient gesture. "You lived your own Reyallen, didn't you, Avon?" he asked impulsively. He pulled Avon to him again and held him against his heart. Avon stayed there, letting Blake's warmth and the certainty of his presence ease his pain. He didn't return the embrace, but simply stood, unwilling to move. His bent head rested against Blake's shoulder. The rebel had always had this capacity to give. Avon had long wondered how he could give and give without depleting himself, but it seemed that not even Reyallen could deplete him completely.

After a bit, he began to feel rather idiotic and he struggled free, drawing back a hasty two steps. "I do not recall encouraging such liberties, Blake," he said sternly.

"You never do encourage them." Blake's voice was fond. "You leave me little alternative but to take them when and if I deem them necessary." He shook his head with a colossal sigh. "Ah, Avon, I think we'll need to stay together. Neither one of us seems capable of managing alone."

" _You_ certainly don't," Avon retorted without thinking and then winced, remembering Reyallen. He rubbed his bruised jaw thoughtfully.

Blake saw the wince as well as the gesture, and he grinned. "I don't know if I'm cured, Avon. I suspect it will never be this easy, but I can't seem to hate you. I couldn't then, not even when I tried. I could get angry, I could blame you, but I could never hate you. Come and sit down and let me run a healing pad over that bruise."

"That seems a good idea." Avon flexed his jaw. "You've a near-lethal kick, Blake." His eyes narrowed. "And so has someone else, it seems. Is that a similar bruise on your jaw?"

Blake reached up a startled hand and winced. "I'd forgotten. Your Dayna was rather upset with me."

"Dayna did that?" Avon felt a smile begin.

Blake smiled in return and for a moment they stood there grinning like a pair of fools. It must look so ridiculous that Blake began to laugh, and Avon found it contagious.

When the door swung open to admit a cautious Cally, come to make certain they hadn't killed each other, they were trying to operate the regenerative pads on each other, still laughing.

*** *** ***

That didn't solve all their problems, of course. Blake still caught himself with the odd snide remark, and once, when Zen reported pursuit ships at the edge of detector range, Blake went white and tensed up, unable to relax until the ships had disappeared off the screen. But Avon and Blake were dealing better together than ever before. Vila watched them a lot as they headed back to Terminal, somewhat wary about the mission. He understood why everyone wanted to check on Servalan. He rather suspected Avon meant to kill her, and Vila didn't mind, as long as none of them got hurt. But he couldn't help worrying about all the things that could go wrong. You could always count on the ex-president to come up with some devious new scheme. She was too clever and too crafty for the lot of them, even for Avon, who claimed to be a hard man.

Vila had long suspected that Avon was not as hard as he wanted people to think. He cared little for the welfare of complete strangers and he held everyone at a distance. He could be quite amazingly ruthless when circumstances demanded it and could pretend ruthlessness to keep people from getting too close. But a fear of displaying his feelings didn't quite add up to the total amoral, power-mad schemes of a woman like Servalan, who could commit remarkable havoc without a qualm. Avon might commit remarkable havoc as well and pretend to remain untouched, but he was never really untouched. Vila had seen it in his eyes more than once, when Avon was acting his nastiest. The thief had finally come to the conclusion that Avon acted his nastiest when he had the most to hide. When his emotions were not involved, he was quite calmly able to go through life untouched. It wasn't unless he was in danger of giving an emotional reaction that would bring down the house that he became mean and sarcastic and intolerable.

Once he realized that, Vila discovered that he could sit back and enjoy Avon. In fact, with a little effort, he could help Avon unwind, prick his arrogant balloon and bring him crashing down from the rarefied heights where Alpha snobs liked to stay. Avon, human, was remarkably good fun, the way he'd been at Freedom City. It took a lot of work to bring that Avon out, but there was some work that didn't daunt Vila and the humanizing of Avon was the most fun he'd ever had, working.

As they neared Terminal, Avon grew tense again. Vila caught Blake noticing and suspected it would help him in his continuing fight to come to terms with Reyallen. The knowledge that Avon had suffered, perhaps as much as he had, seemed to wear away a little more of his resentment each time he noticed. Vila didn't say anything, but he paid attention. It had always been best to know as much about what was going on as possible. It let him keep a low profile and it also warned him when to duck and when to run.

But Vila wasn't running any more. His use of Orac at Terminal had convinced the others that there was more to him than met the eye. He tried to pretend it was just a fluke, that he'd been scared and desperate and done the right thing by accident, but no one believed him. It was annoying. For years Vila had got by playing the harmless coward, the fool. Part of it was reality. He actively disliked danger and blood and violence, especially when he was the person it was perpetrated upon. It took little to set free his remarkable imagination and to picture in graphic and gory detail the many things that could go wrong on each mission. As long as he wailed and disagreed and protested, no one took him very seriously and his exposure to threat was minimal. Even Avon, who knew better, called him worthless, and didn't mind leaving him to man the teleport unless there was a door or a safe that needed opening.

By the time he was assigned to Cygnus Alpha, Vila had become so caught up in his coward role that he believed it himself. Only gradually had he emerged from it, taking the odd cautious risk. He'd tried to conceal his skills from Blake on the _London_ , afraid he'd be caught up in whatever scheme the Alpha was planning, but since then, he'd come to feel a pride in his abilities that nothing could shake, especially when people like Avon respected them. Avon had told Tarrant once that the pilot was easily replaced but that a talented thief was rare. He'd said that at Keezarn, Vila remembered, grinning. Avon had defended him there. And Tarrant had apologized. They all knew Vila's true worth now, even Orac.

Feeling remarkably smug, Vila turned his eyes toward the main screen--and felt his delight shiver out of existence as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. "Pursuit ships," he wailed.

"What!" Avon jerked up from the tray of teleport bracelets he had been checking, and two of them bounced free and rolled across the floor in ever narrowing circles. "How did they get so close? Were you napping, Vila?"

"No. I wasn't napping. I was right here. I was paying attention. Maybe they've got those detector shields. Some Federation ships do. We've encountered them before," he babbled. Well to think he wasn't a coward and perhaps never had been. It didn't mean he wasn't afraid.

"Zen, were those ships cloaked?" Avon asked abruptly, turning to the main computer as he spoke.

+Affirmative. The detector shields were lowered just as Vila Restal detected them. They are on an intercept course with the _Liberator_.+

"How many of them are there?" Avon asked practically.

+There are six ships within detector range."

"We can handle six ships," Vila scoffed, hoping he sounded offhand and casual, but suspecting he only sounded uneasy. "We've done it before."

Avon strode across to the communicator. "Battle stations. Pursuit ships. Everyone get up here now."

Tarrant had been at the pilot's station, and now he ran a systems' check. "Zen," he called. "put the battle computers on line. Clear the neutron blasters for firing and put up the radiation flare shield."

+Confirmed.+

Vila scuttled around the couch to the weaponry position, suddenly noticing how white Blake's face had become. Blake had admitted he'd lost his nerve, that he'd spent the past ten months avoiding confrontation, and had needed to be bullied into going to the aid of a rebel ship. Blake had blamed himself for that near-disaster. If anyone was good at taking the blame for things, it was Blake. He'd probably blame himself for the invention of the neutron blaster if he thought he could get away with it.

"Blake?" Vila called.

Startled, the rebel turned to Vila, who could see the tension in his face. He had been looking better after several days of Orac's vitamin solution and his little tête-à-tête with Avon, but he'd lost ground now. He looked as frightened as ever Vila had done.

Being Blake, he chose to face the problem. Now that he'd stopped denying it, he was determined to meet it head on. "Yes, Vila?" he asked as Jenna, Cally and Dayna burst onto the flight deck and slid into assorted positions.

"Blake, I'm not a well man. I don't think I can handle this today. It's my stomach--or maybe it's my head. I need you to take my position."

Blake turned even whiter than before. Across the flight deck, Avon spun abruptly to Vila as if to lambast him viciously, then he stopped himself. Vila caught his eye and winked at him.

Clutching his stomach and groaning convincingly, Vila put everything into making it a great performance. He'd always rather liked the weaponry position, because it gave him something to do, something that needed concentration. He'd managed to convince himself that those ships didn't hold real live people but rather Federation nasties, the kind of folks who had tried to interfere with his head, and it was easy. But faced with nothing to do, he'd found himself ready to climb the walls. Blake had to have a task that required him to do something, and it couldn't be piloting because they needed someone as skilled as Jenna and Tarrant for that.

Avon looked at Blake for a long few seconds then he said sharply, "If you can't do it, Vila, get out of there. Blake, take over." He added provocatively, "This is my ship, as you might recall. I give the orders here."

Blake's head came up in furious resentment. "I don't take orders from you."

"You will now if you don't want this ship blown out of the sky."

"Get out of the way, Vila," Blake muttered and slid into the thief's abandoned position. From the look on his face, Vila suspected there would be a discussion about ownership of the _Liberator_ the moment the battle was over.

Jenna glared at Avon, then she went over and stood before him, since Tarrant had already been in possession of the helm. "Do you think it would help to take _Moonwind_ out, Captain?" The sarcastic emphasis on the final word was withering.

"No, you'd be a target when the bay doors opened." He added something in an undertone that made Jenna shoot a sharply questioning glance over her shoulder at Blake, then she patted Avon's arm as if in apology and stepped back as he went to activate the force wall.

Vila curled up on the couch and watched everyone else. It was too nervous-making to watch the main screen. If it weren't for the threat, he would have enjoyed Tarrant's maneuver of the great ship, just as he enjoyed Jenna doing it. Vila liked watching people who knew what they were doing. Skilled in his own field, he admired people who were as skilled in theirs. But this time, his eyes kept gliding back to Blake.

The rebel still looked shaky, and the position wasn't as familiar to him as it was to Vila, or to Dayna, who enjoyed blasting enemy ships, or even to Avon, who took it sometimes. But Blake had learned every position on the ship and time had not made him rusty. Though his knuckles were white and his palms were probably sweaty, his hands were firm on the controls. Once or twice, Avon prompted him in a deliberately patronizing voice that got through the panic Blake must be feeling and stiffened his resolve.

The _Liberator_ was hit twice, but neither blow did major damage. One rocked them around quite a bit and the second weakened the hull in one of the storage decks. Zen closed off that section automatically and get the auto repairs to work on it.

+Final repairs will require human intervention,+ the computer added.

"Preferably suited up," Tarrant observed cheerfully. A space battle always seemed to bring out the best in him.

"Vila can do it," Avon replied. "Since he enjoys working in a suit so much--and since he's contributed nothing so far." He favored Vila with a crocodile smile.

It wasn't fair. Vila had done a lot already and everyone knew it. But Avon couldn't be gainsaid, not in the heat of battle. Vila began to plan a devious revenge, such as putting something nasty in Avon's bed or painting silly and obscene sayings on the backs of his leather tunics.

The last pursuit ship was remarkably persistent, even after the other five had been destroyed or damaged too badly to continue the fight. Finally, it made a headlong run at the _Liberator_. Avon said calmly, "Zen, intensify the force wall in the area of projected impact."

+Confirmed.+

Blake began to fire suddenly in a flurry of activity and before the vessel could break past and impact on the outer shields, it burst apart in a bright flame.

"Nice shooting," said Dayna approvingly. "You've got the eye for it, Blake."

He started to shut down the position, his expression too controlled, then suddenly his hands stopped moving and his eyes sought Avon.

"You got under my skin, you bastard," he growled, the anger that had not been completely eradicated flaring to vivid life. Avon glared back at him, his chin thrust out in conscious challenge. Then, to Vila's astonishment, he grinned.

"It worked, didn't it?" he asked.

Blake's fury melted away. "Damn you," he said, but without heat. "You've grown perceptive in the last year. Yes, it worked. Now back off, or I'll have hysterics."

"Don't," Avon replied. "It will teach Vila bad habits."

Blake opened his mouth to object and sputtered into uneasy laughter. For a moment, it hung in the balance, then he relaxed. "I feel like I've fought an entire war," he observed.

"Next time will be easier," Cally said gently.

"I don't even want to think about next time."

"Then don't. Take it as it comes. It is all any of us can do, Blake." She smiled at him. "You did very well. We all know it was difficult. But you would not be the man we all are prepared to follow if you had not attempted it."

"Even if it took Vila's malingering to get me started?"

"We all need prompting from time to time," she replied. "As I am certain Vila will when it is time for him to get suited up for his repairs."

Blake chuckled weakly. "I'm hardly a fit leader," he objected.

"Let us be the judge of that." It came from Avon, and Vila turned to stare. He knew Avon had expressed a new fury at the Federation after Reyallen, but he hadn't realized it had manifested itself this way. Things were getting interesting around here.

At Avon's words, Blake finally relaxed. He sought out Avon's eyes across the flight deck and the two of them exchanged a look before Avon turned away with a remark that it might be a good idea to remove themselves rapidly from this part of space.

"And another thing we need do," Jenna added, "is be alert for more shielded ships. After all, Servalan's fleet went back to Earth. Some of them, at least, might have switched sides. One leader or another won't matter to most of the military."

"Meaning?" Avon asked.

"Meaning that Benzer knows where Servalan was last and might come after her."

"But she's been there some weeks now," Vila objected. "Wouldn't they have come already and gone?"

"That's what I assumed about Servalan at Exbar, Vila," Avon remarked. "One too many assumptions can kill you." He added nastily, "Go and get kitted up. Zen will be ready for you in storeroom six within the hour."

Vila's face fell. "You had to remind me, didn't you."

"The longer you complain, the longer it will take you to finish, Vila," said Tarrant brightly. "I tell you what. I'll come along--and help you get suited up."

"And here I thought you meant to help with the repairs," Vila mourned. "That's taught me, it has."

"One should hope so, Vila," replied Avon. "Even you should be capable of learning something."

"Hah. I've learned the truth about you," Vila retorted. And when Avon raised a questioning--and ever so slightly wary--eyebrow, he added, "But that would be telling," and sailed off the flight deck with Tarrant in ready pursuit.

*** *** ***

As the _Liberator_ neared Terminal, Avon and Blake both suggested double watches. Tensions began to build and Blake was not the only one who sat his watch white-knuckled. He felt a little better after the fight, but it needed more than that to restore his confidence. He would sit for hours watching the main screen, bracing himself for the thought of trouble, despising himself for his fear.

Curiously enough, the one thing that reassured him during this tense period was the presence of the man he'd spent the past year blaming for his fate. Whenever the strain of his imprisonment seemed to come too near the surface, he would find Avon there, ready to listen or brace him with a sardonic word or two. Avon was never quite as open as he had been in the medical unit, but Blake didn't need him to say it now that he knew Avon backed him, knew that his well-being mattered to the cynical tech. Even during the battle, Avon had known how to prod him into action, and once the fighting started and he had something to do, it was a little easier.

He had half expected to hear himself challenge Avon for ownership of the _Liberator_ as soon as the last pursuit ship was destroyed, but the subject had never come up. Avon didn't mention it again, and if it were true that he meant to join Blake's crusade against the Federation, it became a moot point. Blake knew he was--or had been--a natural leader and that Avon, while intelligent, lacked the skills with people to make them follow him unhesitatingly. He could inspire loyalty--the reactions of Tarrant, Dayna and Vila had proven that. Cally supported him too, though she was one of the few who actually believed in Blake's Cause--or admitted it.

Remembering Tarrant's fierce insistence on saving the fleeing rebel ship in the Tarnis system, Blake wondered if that young man were a secret rebel as well. He'd deserted Space Command, though most people who achieved his rank wouldn't think of leaving. Tarrant wasn't quite cold-blooded and mercenary enough to have done it for personal greed, but he never talked about it. Blake wondered if something had happened to make him wake up to the Federation's tyranny, but he was reluctant to ask.

Now Avon had offered his support. Blake had been stunned and gratified to hear Avon say it--something he'd pushed and prodded Avon to admit when he'd been on the _Liberator_ before. Of course part of it was timing. The last thing Avon wanted was for Blake to sneak up behind him one day and blow the back of his head off. Even if the threat of Blake's obsessive retribution had prompted him to speak when he did, he would never have said it if it weren't true. Avon never told anyone everything he knew, but he didn't lie, except perhaps to himself.

Avon was frequently present on the flight deck when Blake took a watch. It had been agreed that he take no watch on his own until Orac deemed him fit to do so, but it was amazing how often his time there coincided with Avon's. When Blake had mentioned it to Vila, the thief had grinned engagingly.

"What do you expect, Blake? After he went to all that trouble to find you, he wants you where he can see you."

"Because he doesn't trust me?" Blake asked, a little sourly, though he knew that wasn't what Vila meant.

"Well, he claims he doesn't really trust anybody," Vila replied. "But he trusted you with a gun the other day. I'd say he trusts you more than most. No, it's not that. If it were anyone but Avon, you might think it was sentiment--but of course it couldn't be, could it? Avon's not sentimental." Vila winked at Blake. "Whatever you do, don't mention it to him."

Blake bit back his own smile. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Avon was with him now, quietly working on one of those esoteric gadgets he'd been so fond of in the old days. Blake had long suspected he did them in public so he could sound clever if anyone asked about them. They might, of course, be parts of the ship, things that needed repairs, but Zen took care of most of that.

"What's that you're working on, Avon?" he asked to start a conversation.

Avon looked up at him thoughtfully, then turned his attention back to the device. "One of Zen's translator units," he said. "I want to see if I can boost the gain."

"Why? We seldom need anything translated."

"We might one day. I should prefer to be prepared."

"I think you just like puttering around," Blake said fondly.

"As you say," agreed Avon without taking offense. After a moment, he added, "Are you interested in such things? Your background isn't too far removed from the structure of these devices. I had thought to miniaturize one and redesign it to wear on a belt during planetary missions. Some of the outer worlds' versions of Terran have mutated so strongly that their language is nearly impossible to understand."

"You want to design a hand held translator device?" Blake asked. "The Federation has such things already."

"But we do not. I see no need of wasting my vast wealth--or should I say 'our' vast wealth?--on things we can assemble here from spare parts."

Blake frowned. "I've had one of those units apart before," he remarked. "There was a time when the Federation was making a push for exploration of remote worlds in the 9th sector. Some of them were inhabited by alien life forms. There was a plan to meet peaceably with them--at least at first. Once the public had forgotten all the publicity, I believe the aliens would have been slaughtered or relocated from promising worlds, or used as slave labor, the way Ro's people were."

"And you resolved to fight for them too. Not content with human rabble, you want to protect the entire galaxy."

Blake nodded. "The Freedom Party did some picketing and interrupted a few public viscasts with what we'd learned. It wasn't a long time after that when I attracted the attention of Travis. It was all for nothing, for there were some budget cuts and the expansion never took place. I always meant to have a look at the 9th Sector one day."

"What an excellent idea," Avon said with an edge of sarcasm. "We might finally provide Vila with his hairy aliens. Though there were some of them on Terminal." He grimaced.

"Bad, were they?"

"I was remembering something Servalan had said." He hesitated, a frown furrowing his brow. "She said Terminal was an experiment in accelerated development constructed over 400 years ago by a consortium of scientists. We assumed the links were primitive ancestors to man, but she insisted that they were what we would evolve into."

"I don't _believe_ it!" Blake found the idea abhorrent. "Nature wouldn't regress, Avon."

Avon looked unconvinced. "I lack your inherent faith in humanity, Blake--and your optimism."

"That makes us a better team. I don't believe Servalan about the links in any case. Terminal was an unnatural setting. It would be the same as something developed in the lab. The results of the test could be manipulated to produce the designated results. It might be one possibility for our future, but not the only one." He eyed Avon consideringly. "Does it bother you?"

"Not particularly. I shall not be around to see it. But I rather suspected it would disturb you. You have a weakness for those you can't help. Forget the links, Blake, except as a potential threat to us when we reach the planet."

Blake nodded, though the idea did disturb him. His view and Avon's differed dramatically. Blake viewed humanity more optimistically, believing that man could achieve a great deal, but that individuals could do great harm. Avon, on the other hand, had little faith in humanity in general, but occasionally believed in the odd individual. His recent behavior had indicated that Roj Blake was one of the people he would trust, and Blake was grateful, but he wished Avon could see past his negative view. Still, life in the Federation fostered negativity. With little to hope for, it seemed inevitable that the rabble would fear to take risks. When life was always bad, the only way to go would be down.

"Blake? Before you plan the salvation of humanity, would you take a look at this?" Avon shoved a circuit board into Blake's hand. "Do you see a way to miniaturize this design? It's the biggest limitation I've encountered to date."

Blake put aside his Cause for the moment and he and Avon put their heads together over the board. It seemed a long time ago that Blake had resented Avon.

*** *** ***

"Detector shield?" Jenna asked crisply as she checked her readings a final time.

"Engaged," Avon replied, flipping several toggles.

"How close can we come?" Tarrant wanted to know.

"We will be in visual range of the planet for five seconds before we reach firing range." Avon's eyes narrowed. He looked unhappy to be where he was.

"She knew we'd arrived very quickly last time," Cally reminded everyone. "Of course if she is still there she would be alone and could not monitor the skies every moment of every day."

"But there could be an alarm," Dayna pointed out. She was at the weaponry position and had already cleared the neutron blasters for firing and put up the radiation flare shield. So far, there was no trace of pursuit ships and the extra range detectors had picked up nothing in orbit. But it was too soon to tell if there were any ships on the surface.

"If there's a fleet grounded there, we can run," Tarrant suggested. "They'd have to launch and come up through the atmosphere and they couldn't match _Liberator's_ speed, not unless they were specially modified. Servalan won't expect us back, and the new government wouldn't either."

"Servalan wouldn't believe we'd just leave her," Blake replied. "If she knows there's been a coup, she wouldn't trust anyone with her location. She might think we'd try to turn her in for amnesty."

Tarrant laughed skeptically. "I hardly think they'd give it us for turning her in. They might promise it and turn around and arrest us. I doubt Benzer intends a benevolent government. I've heard of him and he's reputed to be as nasty as Servalan, only less devious with it. She spent her time in extravagant schemes to trap us and to boost her power. Perhaps the council got tired of it, or maybe just fed up because she couldn't deliver us. She must have cost them a fortune in the process."

"For her dresses alone," Dayna snorted. "I just want her dead."

"She could monitor the _Liberator_ in orbit," Catty reminded them. "Even with the detector shield in place, we'd be within visual range in orbit."

"I had considered _Moonwind_ ," said Blake thoughtfully. "It doesn't have a teleport, of course:, but we could make a surface landing. She'd see the ship on her detectors, of course, but she'd not recognize it. It would give us some element of surprise. While she was investigating it, the _Liberator_ could come into orbit and teleport people down to the base."

"How fast is your ship?" Avon asked Jenna.

"She can do time distort thirteen in a pinch. Taking her down there might be a good idea."

"Only if there's no grounded fleet," Avon agreed. "Zen, how long before you can scan the surface for ships?"

+Thirty seven point six minutes.+

"In the meantime," Avon went on, "I want the extra range detectors used every ten minutes, a complete scan in all directions. Pay particular attention to the planet and report anything threatening immediately."

+Confirmed.+

Blake looked at Avon sharply. Dayna wondered if he were objecting to Avon's assumption of ownership, but if so, he said nothing. Terminal was Avon's mission, just as the proposed destruction of the Federation base on Reyallen would be Blake's.

"Who'll go down with me?" Jenna asked.

"I will," volunteered Dayna.

"Blake and I will teleport," Avon replied. "I want one pilot on board at all times, so you're elected, Tarrant. You can operate the teleport. Cally and Vila will accompany us down. Vila, you go on _Moonwind_. Cally, with us."

Dayna began to look forward to the mission, smiling a little at the thought of Servalan's discomfiture. Avon obviously hoped she was there so he could rub her nose in her loss of power. What a letdown it would be if she had fled.

As they neared the planet, Zen's periodic scans revealed no orbiting ships or vessels nearby in space, and only two ships on the planet. One, evidently the vessel Servalan had intended them to use in their 'escape,' was nothing but wreckage. If it had been booby trapped, the former president had done nothing to halt its destruction. The second ship was a little further away, perhaps half a day's walk from the base, in easy range of a flyer or a ground car, of which several could be concealed nearby. It looked intact, but it was powered down. If that were Servalan's backup ship, she had never used it.

"We go in," Avon decided, studying the results.

"Hold off here with _Liberator_ ," suggested Jenna. "We'll take _Moonwind_ in first. When we touch down, bring the _Liberator_ in quickly. She should be more concerned about an unfamiliar ship landing than what else might be coming in. If her own ship isn't working, she'll hope to get in good with an unexpected crew."

+Information,+ Zen intoned. +The unknown vessel is powering up. It is preparing to take off.+

"Boost power to the shields," ordered Avon quickly. "Orac, scan that ship. Identify it and determine how many people are presently on board."

+Kindly wait. My circuits are presently engaged in my own research.+

"You will clear your circuits to scan that ship."

Avon's voice was ominous enough that even Orac reacted to it. +I am scanning the vessel. Please wait.+ Orac sounded put out.

Avon exchanged an amused look with Blake at the little computer's reaction. Orac was satisfyingly prompt this time.

+The vessel is identified as the _Scorpio_ ,+ it replied. +The vessel's owner and captain is a human named Dorian. Attempts to locate him in Federation files has proven futile. The vessel originated from the planet Xenon, which is outside Federation influence. It is presently on route for that planet. There are two people on board that ship, one male, presumably Dorian, and one human female.+

"Servalan," breathed Dayna. "Her contingency plan. Rescue from outside the Federation."

+Very likely,+ Orac snapped. +I had not yet completed my report.+

"Oh. Well, sorry, Orac." Dayna grinned. "Please, go on."

Orac made a noise that sounded like, +Hmmph. The _Scorpio_ 's computer, Slave, a curiously advanced design, though vastly inferior to my own, has given me the coordinates for the planet Xenon. There are no large settlements there. There is a landing silo, an underground base, and several primitive tribes living on the surface of the planet. Dorian provides supplies to the most advanced of them. There is one other resident of his base, a woman named Soolin.+

"Will the Slave computer inform Dorian of your scanning?" Vila asked uneasily.

+Of course it will not. My control can overwhelm inferior computers.+

"Is there any evidence of a conspiracy involving Dorian, Soolin and any non-Federated worlds?" Blake wanted to know.

+None apparent. There is no evidence that Dorian's rendezvous with Servalan was planned. The Slave computer informs me that Dorian went to Terminal to search for the crew of this ship."

" _What_?" Avon asked sharply, eyeing Orac with growing suspicion.

+Apparently Dorian has made a study of the _Liberator_ over the past year. His interest was never explained to the Slave computer, or evidently the woman, Soolin. He came to Terminal, aware of _Liberator_ 's visit, expecting to locate and bring back to Xenon with him this crew."

"For what purpose?" Cally asked.

+Unknown. This is interesting. Slave reports that Dorian has attempted to construct a teleport system. He has great scientific skill.+

"But you said 'attempted'," Vila prompted, resting his elbows on the table where Orac sat and staring at the computer. "Apparently he's not good enough to succeed."

+Not as yet. Perhaps that was the reason he wished to bring this crew back to Xenon. Or perhaps he wanted the use of the _Liberator_.+

"In other words, he planned to capture us and take our ship?" Jenna asked hotly. "I don't think I like him."

"I know I don't like him," agreed Vila. "Why's he got Servalan, then?"

+That information is not available. Slave reports that Dorian frequently brings people back to the Xenon Base. But this is even more interesting. They do not leave by means of the _Scorpio_.+

"Maybe he gives them to the natives to play with," suggested Tarrant. "I don't think I care for Dorian's interest in us--and I certainly don't like the thought of his alliance with Servalan."

"Agreed." Avon strode forward from his place near the main screen. "I think we should break up their little tête-à-tête."

"I think we should see what the Xenon Base is like," Blake added. "We can follow them just outside _Scorpio_ 's detector range. Obtain it, will you, Orac?"

+I have relayed that data to the Zen computer,+ Orac replied smoothly. +I regret it is impossible to record the conversation between Dorian and Servalan.+

"I think we should be sure it is Servalan," Cally said suddenly. "Perhaps Dorian brought Soolin with him."

Orac was briefly silent. +No. Soolin is at the base. Slave reports that Dorian has addressed the woman as Servalan. Really, the Slave computer-is most interesting. It suffers in that it was not created by Ensor, but it has abilities far in advance of normal ships' computers. I will continue to monitor.+

"Very well," said Blake. "Zen, Orac has given you the distance necessary to shield us from the _Scorpio_. Follow the ship just beyond that range."

+Confirmed.+

*** *** ***

As the DSV neared Xenon's home system, the crew began to drift back to the flight deck. Holding off just outside detector range, they watched the ship approach the planet. When Orac reported it had landed and been withdrawn into the landing silo, Avon activated his detector shield and Orac was instructed to interfere with base detectors as the _Liberator_ went into orbit. No other ships were visible in the system. No Federation ships had been observed except at extreme range the entire journey, and none of them had been near enough to detect the _Liberator_. Leaving Federation space had been something of a relief though Xenon was close enough to serve as a good base for Blake's rebellion. He rather liked the idea. But Dorian might have a deal going with Servalan, and until they knew what it was, there was no chance of approaching the ship's captain.

Orac had never located any reliable information on Dorian. Several planetary records indicated that Dorian traded there, but little information was available beyond his name and his ship's registry. Other planets recorded a pilot named Dorian visiting them as well, but the time reference did not match. +Zetar Prime has records of a Dorian trading with their world 47 standard years ago, and Megalith has similar records from 60 to 80 years ago.+

"Perhaps his father?" Jenna speculated. "Or even his grandfather?"

"Maybe he's very old," Vila said. "We haven't seen him. He might be a remarkably well preserved 130 years old. People do live that long sometimes. After all, I plan to live forever--"

"Or die trying. We know," Avon interrupted. "Orac, ignore those dated reports for the present. Instead scan the base and locate a suitable area for safe teleport. I mean to know what Servalan is doing here."

"I'll come down with you," Blake offered.

Turning to him in some surprise, Avon hesitated. "Are you certain you are ready?"

"I think I am. I feel more comfortable about it than I do a space battle. If you think I might freeze, bring along backup. But I haven't yet."

That was true. Blake had needed some urging to participate when they encountered the six ships, but he had done very well. He had not yet regained his fire, but Orac had remarked that he was steadily improving. It had also implied that denying Blake opportunities would not serve him well.

So Avon nodded. "I would enjoy confronting Servalan together," he agreed. "But I will take a backup. I should do so in any case. Dayna, you'll accompany us. But we are there first and foremost to learn Servalan's plan. We may well kill her, but not until we know what she has intended and who else might be involved. A counter-revolution may be in the offing."

Dayna grimaced. There was always some good reason to deny her long-awaited revenge. Generally it had been a good reason, like the incident at the Teal-Vandor Convention, but Dayna didn't have to like it. "I agree," she said reluctantly. "But I want to be the one who kills her, Avon."

"After Terminal, I have half a mind to contest that," he said. "But I defer to you."

"We're not cold blooded butchers," Blake objected. "I agree that Servalan is a threat to us, but I want to know her plans first. She may have raised a secret army. Should it challenge the fleet, they would be distracted enough to allow the resistance to take some action. That's why we're here, not because we've tracked Servalan down to murder her."

"She murdered my father," Dayna insisted.

Orac cut in smoothly before anyone else could comment. +I have set the necessary coordinates to teleport safely into the Xenon Base. This will take you into an empty storage room near the living quarters. Dorian has shown Servalan to a bedroom and has left her alone. He plans a meal. While they are dining, you will be able to teleport safely. It is necessary that you reach the teleport section within ten minutes.+

"Right, then," Blake agreed. "Let's get kitted up. Vila, I think you'd best come too."

"Me, Blake? You won't need me down there, will you?"

"There may be locks down there that will require your abilities," Avon said. "And we should hate to deny you the opportunity to once again be a hero."

"Really, that's all right. If someone else wants a turn at it, they're quite welcome." But Vila bounced up and went in search of his kit without further protest.

*** *** ***

The landing party and Cally, who would operate the teleport, met in precisely ten minutes. Avon studied them all to be sure they were suitably armed. Dayna displayed several small explosives which might be useful, and Vila was lugging his lock picking kit. Blake didn't seem particularly uneasy. Perhaps a covert ground mission would be easier on him than a space battle. Or perhaps he was simply getting well again, now that he was safe on _Liberator_ and on better terms with Avon. The computer tech hoped there would be no further problems, certainly not on this mission.

They materialized in a dark room. Vila turned on a small torch and flashed it around, discovering stacks of plaster crates which contained engine parts, computer equipment, and various other electronics stores. They headed for the door that led into the hallway, and the thief tested it. Unlocked. He edged it open and peered out. "Nobody there," he whispered.

Gun in hand, Avon lead the way. The corridor was dimly lit, with a small lighting panel set into the ceiling every three or four meters. He took a stance in the next doorway to cover the others as they emerged one by one.

Slowly and carefully, they worked their way down the passage to the living area. They could tell when they arrived, for there were many more lights and the air seemed warmer and fresher.

Hearing distant voices, Avon put up a hand sharply to warn the others to keep quiet. When the voices came no nearer, he started forward again in that direction. Presently they stopped outside the dining room.

The door stood ajar. Avon gestured to Vila and Dayna to take a stance across the hall, concealed in the room opposite. Blake came up behind Avon. He seemed nervous but not unduly so.

"You see, Servalan," a man was saying, "I came after you at great effort and expense."

"And your reward shall be magnificent," Servalan replied impatiently, "as I have already assured you. I have urgent business on Earth and can not wait here. I am quite prepared to see you receive suitable recompense. You can name your own price."

"That may be true, Servalan, though I am inclined to doubt it. As yet, I have received no payment whatsoever. Moreover, your original contract stipulated that I would be given the crew of the _Liberator_ , and, as you may have noticed, they are not here. That was the payment I required from you, no more and no less. You have been removed from power and I have no guarantee you can pay me any reward at all. Should I return you to Earth, I might myself be incarcerated as a co-conspirator, and that was never my plan."

"Do you imagine I am without powerful friends, even now?" she said impatiently. "Don't play games, Dorian. Name your price. I assure you, you will get it, even if you want an entire planet of your very own. I have no time to waste in negotiations. The longer I remain away from Earth, the more difficult my return to power becomes."

"Oh, but you will not be returning to Earth, Servalan."

"You dare to threaten me?"

"Easily. Soolin?"

"Yes, my dear?" Avon wondered what the other woman had made of Servalan's attempts at bargaining.

"Remove the ex-president's gun."

"You dare!" Servalan cried out.

"Easily. Soolin is rather an expert with a gun. She is the best I have ever seen."

"I am the best there is, Soolin returned coolly. "There were others who were good, but they are dead."

She sounded controlled and competent. Avon respected competency. He vowed to be wary of Soolin.

"You see, Madame Ex-President, Soolin's family was butchered. She managed to learn a useful skill, and she turned it against the people who murdered her family. She will use it against you if you threaten her or me."

"What do you want from me, Dorian?" Servalan demanded in barely controlled fury. Avon enjoyed the helpless rage in her voice.

"I needed the _Liberator_ crew. You alone cannot replace them, but you are an extraordinarily strong willed woman. I can make use of you after all. I had planned a gestalt, but it is not yet to be." Avon could hear the smile in his voice and he didn't like it.

"Thank you," he added. "A deadly toy, Servalan. I wonder, have you more of them? Check her, Soolin. No? Just as well. You see, Servalan, I came after the _Liberator_ crew because I had need of a group of people. They work together well. They have learned to need each other. In spite of their evident disavowals of friendship, they are a part of each other, all of them. Even Avon."

Avon felt Blake clasp his arm briefly as he heard the man's words. Blake must believe it was true, and perhaps there was some validity in it. But why would that make them valuable?

"Come along," Dorian said. "There is a room on this base that I wish to show you. And you, my dear. I think that I shall be more successful with the two of you. Yes, you as well, Soolin. You will be no replacement for Avon and the others--oh, yes, I neglected to tell you, your gun will not fire."

There was a clicking noise as if she attempted to fire or to check the weapon. "Damn you," she spat out.

"You see her gun, Servalan," Dorian went on calmly as if he had not just condemned his companion to Servalan's as yet undisclosed fate. "A clipgun, a most useful weapon, designed by myself. A clip is inserted here. It can fire a stun, a plasma bolt, a laser charge, anything I care to design. A most useful--damn you." A crash followed and Soolin came bursting out the door. She was young and blonde and attractive in a cool, superior way, but the brief glimpse Avon had of her clearly revealed fury and betrayal. A weapon spoke behind her and struck the opposite wall near the door to Dayna and Vila's concealment.

Avon reacted instantly, grabbing Soolin around the throat, one hand covering her mouth. She struggled fiercely, but Avon forced her into the opposite room, gesturing for Blake to follow.

"Shut up," Avon breathed into her ear. "If he finds us, you'll die first." She struggled once then lapsed into silence.

Dorian did not pursue her. His voice was more distant, but still audible. "No matter. I can find her later. There are only so many hiding places on this base. She doesn't know what I intend, but you will. You see, Servalan, I have been here two hundred years. I found this base and made it my own, once I discovered that there was a special room that proved greatly useful to me."

"What room?" she demanded with evident boredom.

"I will show it to you."

"I don't believe I am interested in it."

"Nevertheless, you will see it. Do you wonder at my appearance? Do you think I am more youthful than I was when we returned here? There is a reason for that. The room does it. It rejuvenates me. It takes my corruption, my evil, my darkness, and gives me eternal youth. But there is a price to pay." Their voices came nearer as he forced Servalan into the passage at gunpoint. Avon could see the rage and dawning fear upon her face.

"Did you know of this room?" he whispered to Soolin without removing his hand from her mouth.

She shook her head violently, struggling once more for freedom.

"No, I will not free you," he said. "Dorian's room was intended for me, and I mean to determine the nature of the threat. Do you know where the room is?"

She shook her head again and muttered something against his hand.

"The price for screaming is death," he informed her and raised it.

"I don't scream," she said coolly. "I think I know where the room is. Once when I explored the base, I found a flight of stairs that went nowhere. I followed it down and down to a dead end. No one creates stairs like that without a purpose. I thought the door was concealed, but I couldn't find it. I'll show you where it is--in exchange for passage off this planet once I've killed Dorian."

"That seems a reasonable trade," he replied. He didn't really care for the idea of a hired killer loose on the _Liberator_ , but the details could be ironed out later. For now he needed her, for to follow Dorian too closely meant discovery. Without knowing the abilities of the room in question, he did not choose to risk capture.

"I can wait here, and watch your backs," Vila offered halfheartedly, but he fell into step without further complaint when Avon glared at him.

Soolin led them to a room where she produced a gun, one of the clipguns Dorian had mentioned, from beneath a table. She checked the clip and nodded with satisfaction. "He knows where most of the weapons are, but I told him I lost this one on the surface. I trust no one and thought it best to be prepared. This way. Hurry."

When they found the stairway, none of them liked the look of it. It seemed to vanish into darkness. Avon put his hand on the railing--metal. He could feel no vibration to indicate that Servalan and Dorian had come this way. But perhaps the construction did not allow for that--or perhaps they had reached the bottom.

"I should warn you, Soolin," he said to her, "If this proves a trap, you will be the first one to die."

"I mean for Dorian to die," she spat furiously. "Because he couldn't find you, he intended to sacrifice me. I do not accept betrayals."

"He doesn't sound a pleasant chap," Vila offered. Soolin favored him with a scornful look.

"I want Servalan," Dayna remarked. "Blake, she doesn't have a plan; she doesn't have a hidden following. She only meant to sell us and got caught in her own scheme. Let me kill her."

"I think Dorian may get to it first," Blake replied. "I don't like the sound of this room of his. It rejuvenates him? How? By taking youth from others?"

"He meant to feed us to it," gasped Vila. "That's what he meant. The lot of us. A gestalt, he said. I don't like it. We'd be trapped here, probably dying slowly and horribly. Maybe we should blow up the exit and leave him down there."

"No, we must see what he intends. I wouldn't leave even Servalan to something like that," Blake insisted.

"I would," Dayna replied. "After what she did to my father--and what she's done to most of us, Tarrant's brother, and Avon on Terminal, and all the people you want to free, Blake, she deserves this."

Blake started down the ladder without arguing. Avon gestured Soolin to follow him and caught Dayna's arm briefly. "Blake is an idealist, Dayna. There may come a time when idealists are necessary. In any case, don't cross him."

She glared at him. "One would think you wanted to spare her."

"Never believe that," he spat and followed Soolin.

The stairs went down forever. Deeper and deeper they proceeded into the bowels of Xenon, with silence above them and an ominous room below. Blake moved with remarkable stealth, and Soolin had the grace of a huntress. Dayna was silent behind him, and only an occasional faint mutter of a complaint from Vila, some distance to the rear, disturbed the stillness. Avon doubted Vila's noise carried as far as Blake.

Finally they reached the bottom, or what seemed to be the bottom. Blake put up an abrupt hand for silence and they joined him, moving like ghosts in the eerie stillness. As they stood there, they heard Dorian's voice below them. An opening took the stairs down another flight, and below, Servalan stood near Dorian. Something in her posture suggested total panic. It was so unlike Servalan that Avon's grip tightened involuntarily on his gun.

"They die quickly now," Dorian was explaining. "My corruption is too much for them. That's why I wanted the crew of the _Liberator_. Strong and united, they would have lasted me for some years. But you are strong, Servalan. You are very strong. You will last. I will bring Soolin to join you later. Perhaps you will even be able to sense her presence, to feel her companionship."

An eerie sound echoed through the room and the light pulsed around them. "Yes," Dorian crooned in triumph. "Yes, it will work. The room accepts you."

"No!" Servalan tried to dive past him for the steps, but he struck her hard on the side of her neck and she fell, dazed and gasping.

In the shadows beyond, something stirred.

Though Avon was not a fanciful man, he felt a touch of coldness run through him and the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Sternly, he controlled himself, watching the creature that dragged itself from the darkness.

Once, it must have been a man, but that had been long ago--or else it had withered under a more powerful compulsion than Avon had yet to experience. He could feel the corruption of the thing as it sidled forward, step by step, sensing the presence of a new victim. Servalan half sat up, drawing back in horror as the beast reached her. Once again she tried to run, but, weakened from the blow, she could only struggle feebly. Perhaps the room had already imprisoned her and she was unable to resist. Dorian stood at the base of the steps, watching, a sense of urgent delight upon his face. He looked evil and twisted, his warped satisfaction chilling Avon to the bone. Then Dorian began to laugh.

The creature touched the collapsed woman and she screamed, a high pitched, agonizing cry of terror and pain. Avon stood frozen as the monster encircled her with clinging arms. The scream went on and on, shrill and high, and suddenly the creature began to join with her, sinking into her flesh, drawing her inside it, making her a part of it as if it were absorbing her.

"Yes, you will be one creature," Dorian muttered to himself. "You will last a long time."

Servalan's eyes were wide and staring and suddenly they fixed on the group at the top of the stairs. Her face was transfixed with pain and horror, but her eyes were aware. She recognized them.

"No!" Dayna pushed past Avon and raised her gun. It fired once and Servalan collapsed, the light going out of her eyes. A second shot and the beast twitched and lay still.

"I couldn't, Blake," Dayna cried, shaking with reaction. "I couldn't let even Servalan die like that--or exist like that. No one deserves such a death." She shuddered with horror and Blake pulled her into his arms.

"NOOO!" The new scream came from Dorian. As Soolin tried to get past Blake and Dayna for a clear shot at her former companion, the man's body jerked as if he'd been shot already. He began to thrash about, his arms and legs jerking as if in the throes of a seizure, then he collapsed near Servalan and the beast, who lay there still entwined. Avon watched in disbelief as the man aged before his eyes, until nothing was left of him but a rotting corpse, a skeleton, a pile of dust.

"Look!" Blake pointed to the creature who had tried to take Servalan. Where moments before a monster had lain, now a youth, beautiful in death, lay, its arms twined around Servalan's silent body.

Soolin turned away, too shaken to enjoy her betrayer's demise. Her breath had quickened and her eyes were wide in disbelief. "I never knew this was here," she admitted. "I knew there was something strange, but he kept it from me. I won't stay here."

Vila gulped audibly. "I'm going to give up drinking, you know," he remarked in the stricken silence. "It'll be pink asteroids next."

*** *** ***

"Charges?" Blake asked, holding out a hand. Avon took several of them from the pouch and passed them to him. He attached one of them to the base of the steps and placed a second one on the floor a short distance away. "I don't know about you, Avon, but I don't want to look around any further."

"I should prefer to be gone from here entirely, but Orac says it is possible to destroy the room."

"Let's hope he's right." Tarrant looked around with fascinated distaste. "And let's hope the teleport works this far under ground."

"There is no reason why it shouldn't, but in case it does not, we have set the charges for a ten minute time delay," Avon replied. "If that's the last of them, I suggest you start climbing. In five minutes, we shall call for teleport."

The three men scrambled up the stairs as fast as they could. There had been no sense of presence in the room without Dorian and the creature, but the creature had not been what made the place work, it had been the room itself. Blake felt the urge to look behind him all the way up the ladder to make sure some strange being or essence had not followed him.

They reached the top of the stairs in time to teleport out of the base. Orac had linked with Dorian's computers to monitor the room, to make certain the explosion took place. They counted down the seconds at the end, the entire crew on the flight deck. Soolin sat a little apart from them at the end of the couch, her face cool and disinterested. She insisted she meant to leave the base behind. "I have no need of it now."

"Then I'd like to use it," Blake replied. "I think we could use a secure base, somewhere to rest between missions, somewhere right out of Federation space."

+The explosion has taken place,+ Orac announced. +The room has been destroyed.+

"Are you certain?" asked Vila uneasily. "I mean whatever was down there might still be working."

+Were I not certain, I would not have reported it,+ replied Orac snippily. +One would assume that your experience with my abilities would have convinced you that I make no claims without backing.+

"In other words, shut up, Vila," Tarrant translated. "So we've acquired a base. Unless you want to keep it now it's cleaned up, Soolin?"

She grimaced with distaste. "I don't think I'd enjoy staying there alone. I have a useful skill. I can find work easily enough, if you will drop me at a suitable world. Consider my passage payment for the base."

"Or you're welcome to stay with us," Blake offered. "We'd be fighting the Federation and we'd have use for your skills."

Avon's eyes narrowed. Blake smiled at him. "Distrustful, Avon?"

"Naturally."

"As I would be," Soolin replied. "I have no reason to trust any of you."

"Nor we you," countered Avon. "Blake, of course, delights in picking up strays."

"Including the odd computer tech?" Blake asked him with a sideways glance.

Avon bowed his head wryly. "Perhaps your wisest action to date "

"I don't believe in causes," Soolin replied, ignoring the byplay between the two men. "Fighting the Federation seems a futile ploy. In any event, I don't give my loyalty, I sell my skills." Her gun sprang into her hand in a demonstration of her ability. With a satisfied smile, she replaced it before anyone but Avon could react. "The _Scorpio_ is mine, however. It might be best if you gave it to me."

+The computer would be of interest for further study,+ Orac volunteered.

"So you mean to take my ship?" She looked around hotly, her hand hovering near her gun. It would have taken one false move to make her draw, this time in anger.

"No, we won't take your ship," Blake assured her earnestly. "We won't interfere with you at all. I just thought you might prefer to join us. It makes it easier to get along if someone watches your back." His eyes slid toward Avon, who studiously avoided looking at him. One could make only so many such overtures toward Avon before he began to back off.

She looked at him seriously, considering his words, studying his face. "There is something in what you say," she observed. "I can take care of myself, but there are many threats out there. I...allowed myself to trust Dorian, and that was a foolish mistake. I don't feel at all inclined to trust you."

"A pity," Avon said under his breath, without looking at Blake. "For he is the one man you _could_ trust."

Blake smiled at him warmly. All trace of resentment had vanished somehow, without Blake realizing it until now. Orac had been right, and Tarrant had been right, that exposure to Avon would take care of that problem. If only he felt more confident about future battles. With Avon behind him, he could accomplish anything--if only he could find the nerve to risk it. He hadn't hesitated down on Xenon, but the threat had been a limited one, one man, and a strange, alien room. Pursuit ships and lightning raids were another matter entirely, one with which he was still uncomfortable.

Soolin had been studying Avon's face, to the tech's discomfiture. Now she turned back to Blake. "I might consider it, but on sufferance, mind you. I should also point out that Dorian has sealed away the _Scorpio_ behind a time lock. If you want the base intact when you return, you'll allow me to open it before we leave the planet."

"I'm your man for that," Vila offered grandly, with an extravagant wave of his hand. "Locks are my specialty."

"Not this one," she said positively. "It will take me ten minutes. A visit to the base should be necessary in any case, in order to determine if the room is actually destroyed."

"And you don't trust Orac either," Avon murmured.

"I don't trust anyone."

Blake couldn't help taking that as a challenge. Soolin was bound to be hostile and suspicious toward them at first. The entire foundation of her life had just been destroyed. She'd also spent most of her adult existence seeking revenge. Having killed the people who had destroyed her family, she now found herself without purpose. Blake hoped she would stay with them and find a new purpose. Her skill with a gun would be useful. and there was the _Scorpio_ to consider. Suddenly Blake had access to a small fleet. It might be useful for his future plans. Three ships against the Federation could do far more than one, even when that one was the _Liberator_.

All that remained was to be certain the remnants of his Reyallen memories were no longer capable of harming him. Yes, they must go to Reyallen next. Only when the prison world stopped being a useful Federation threat could he feel comfortable about it. A part of him knew he must confront his memories in order to be whole. Once the base was destroyed, he could continue with his Cause.

"Blake means what he says," Avon informed her. "He _does_ trust people. However, should you betray that trust, it is not Blake to whom you must answer. It is I."

Soolin studied Avon's unyielding face and nodded. "I can appreciate that. Very well. Who means to come down with me?"

Vila offered to look at her lock, and Tarrant and Dayna went as backup. Blake had them take Orac to study the situation.

They were back in half an hour, Vila looking curiously chagrined. "That Dorian knew his locks," he admitted grudgingly. "But then he's had hundreds of years to perfect his skills. "Orac recorded the whole thing." His chin jutted out determinedly. "We might find a way to use it later, Blake."

"I hope we will. What about the natives down there, Soolin? Will they be a threat to the base while we're gone?"

"The Seska can enter the base at will, but they'll do no harm. They were dependent on Dorian for supplies. I left a message. If you agree, we can continue the arrangement. The Hommiks are no real threat, though avoiding them should you go out alone is simple common sense. When we come back, I can introduce you to Pella and the others."

"Tell us about them," Cally asked, interested. It seemed these tribes would be their neighbors in the coming months. They all listened, fascinated, as Soolin described the two tribes, male and female, and their varying cultures.

"A short sighted arrangement," Jenna murmured.

"Exactly," Avon smiled brightly. "But they need be no threat to us."

"You don't allow anyone to be a threat to you, do you, Avon?" she asked.

"Blake is enough of a threat for me," Avon replied, but without malice.

"And vice versa," the rebel replied.

Avon looked around lazily, grinned at Blake, and turned back to the story. Blake shook his head with considerable amusement and joined them.

 

 ***

 

The nearer they got to Reyallen, the more tense Blake became. Vila watched him cautiously, guessing the rebel had never quite got over his fear of confrontation that the prison world had instilled in him. All too familiar with fear, the thief could easily recognize it in others. Vila dispelled his own terrors by talking about them to anyone who would listen, relieving his tension with a flurry of inane chatter. Sometimes he only frightened himself the worse, but most of the time it helped him, and even distracted the others. He tried it now, chatting endlessly to Blake about this and that, in hopes of taking his mind off the upcoming battle.

After the first few times, Avon, who had threatened Vila with a gag if he didn't stop, seemed to realize what Vila intended and eased off. Vila noticed he was listening, too, and, for once, actually appearing to enjoy it. In fact, Avon had mellowed amazingly. Vila doubted it would mean he was any less dangerous with a gun, but the return of Blake had worked wonders. He was still outspoken when his opinions clashed with Blake's, and they had enjoyed several fierce arguments about their strategy when they reached Reyallen. But let someone else appear to interfere with Blake and Avon's attention was instantly caught. He made a great show of watching Soolin, unwilling to trust her, though Blake was open and friendly with her. The rebel leader took his time with her, refusing to push. He was simply accepting, showing her what friendship was like without insisting she partake of it, and Vila was reminded of someone trying to tame a small wild creature by putting out food. If Soolin was being tamed, she concealed it well, but gradually she stopped reaching for her gun when she heard someone in the corridor behind her.

She seemed to get on well enough with Dayna and Jenna, though she never really lowered her guard. Wary and distant, she wore a face of cool detachment, occasional amusement flashing in her eyes. When she observed Avon watching her, the amusement brightened, and she was quite capable of managing a witty put down that could stop Avon in his tracks for a few seconds.

Soon, he began to retaliate in kind, and they no longer resembled wild beasts circling for the attack.

Several hours before they reached the Reyallen system, the crew had gathered on the flight deck to plan their attack. Tarrant was all in favor of destroying the base from orbit, using the _Liberator_ 's fire power to reduce the Federation headquarters to a pile of rubble. Avon, on the other hand, required a more personal revenge, referring once to an individual named Tanx. At the name, Blake's head came up. "So he's still there. He's not the worst of them, Avon."

"Then I submit we give them the opportunity of knowing they are about to die. An instant death with no foreknowledge is far too good for them."

"Oh, I agree," Blake said coldly. "I want to go down there and confront them face to face." He shivered as if he found the idea frightening--which Vila definitely agreed with--but he had been gaining resolution as they talked. Vila thought he'd make it through all this, as long as everything went right.

"What of the prisoners?" Dayna asked. "Should we try to rescue any of them? What about that one that knew Blake. Jo? Was that his name?"

Avon started to reply only to fall silent, regarding Blake with some alarm. Vila turned quickly and saw that Blake had gone completely white, his body tense and rigid. He was seeing something far removed from the flight deck, and it was no very pleasant vision. Vila dropped his eyes, feeling very strongly that he had intruded on a memory too private for witnesses.

"You saw him, then?" Blake asked in a strange, dead-level voice.

"Yes, we saw him," Avon replied in a voice that held unstoppable determination. "It seems we should have killed him. Would you like to help?"

"No! I want no part of him."

"What did he do to you?" Cally asked gently, stretching out a hand to Blake in some distress.

Jenna shook her head at Cally quickly, and the Auron pulled back her hand, uncomfortable and worried.

Tarrant exchanged a wary glance with Jenna, and opened his mouth to change the subject, but Avon spoke first. "Then I shall kill him," he announced. "And take great pleasure in it." It took little imagination to imagine what might have happened to Blake when, weakened by torture and attempts at conditioning, he was dumped in Jo's territory. Killing him could never undo the horrors of Blake's experience, but at least he would know that no on else could suffer at Jo's hands. Remembering Dayna's description of the man, Vila shuddered. His imagination had always been far too good, and he'd learned enough in prison and in the Delta domes what nastiness people were capable of inflicting upon each other.

At Avon's fierce declaration, Blake shuddered once, then sucked in a deep breath. "I'll come with you, Avon."

"That's not necessary, Blake." Avon sat unmoving, as if to move would be to unleash the fury he felt toward the man who had victimized Blake. But his eyes met the rebel's, and some promise passed between them.

"I think it is," Blake replied quietly, some color returning to his face.

"Not alone," said Jenna sharply.

"He will not _be_ alone," Avon replied.

Jenna stared at the computer tech a moment, then she bowed her head in agreement.

+Information.+ Blake gathered the tattered remnants of his control about him and spoke up. "What is it, Zen?"

+Pursuit ships. Six pursuit ships have been detected at extreme range. They are approaching the planet Reyallen. Four pursuit ships are coming out to meet them.+

Vila felt himself go pale. "They know we're coming," he wailed.

"I think not," Avon disagreed. "But they know we have been here. The ease with which we came and went has alarmed them. They require additional security."

"They'll stop us, then?" Dayna asked in disappointment.

"No," said Avon abruptly. "Zen, at top speed, how long before those pursuit ships can return to Reyallen?"

+Two point six hours.+

"Excellent. Increase speed to standard by ten. Get us there quickly. There will be two ships in orbit or somewhere in the system. Locate those ships. If we must, we will destroy them, or elude them."

+Confirmed.+

"And only have two hours to destroy the base"?" Vila objected.

"To destroy the base and the prisoner Jo," Tarrant reminded him. "I want in on that too, Avon."

"It's Blake you should ask," Avon replied. "Cally, activate the detector shield. Now, we have approximately fifteen minutes to plan our destruction of the base. What are our options?"

*** *** ***

The landing party materialized in the main corridor of the base, which was, fortunately, clear. "I want the Major's office," Avon remarked, looking around suspiciously. "Considering Tanx' reaction to him, I think informing him of our actions should be the first step. Informing him at gunpoint," he added with relish.

Blake nodded. He glanced along the passage uneasily as if expecting hordes of troopers to spring out at him from behind each closed door. Avon saw the look, so reminiscent of Vila's pretend terrors, and so real--and so out of place--on Blake's face. Cursing to himself, he weighed up the landing party. Tarrant and Dayna were both there, guns in hand, and Soolin, the new recruit, had come down to begin selling her skills. She had chosen her clipgun over a _Liberator_ weapon, which was wise of her. In a fight, one's knowledge of one's weapon might mean the difference between life and death. The present clip which fired plasma bolts showed that she was prepared to take no chances. A competent professional.

"This way," Blake remarked, making a concerted effort to sound normal. Jenna, the final member of the landing party, who had been reluctant to let Blake out of her sight here on Reyallen, nodded, and stayed at his side.

Avon fell in behind them, his eyes covering the entire corridor, looking for trouble in the form of remote cameras, trip wires, alarm systems. The keepers of this prison must have remarkable confidence In their base, for he saw none.

Blake led the way around a corner and they came face to face with three young troopers, obviously relaxed and idle, helmets dangling laxly from their hands. At the sight of the party from the _Liberator_ , they gaped in disbelief and went for their guns, one of them letting out an earsplitting bellow for help before Avon's shot silenced him. But of course the shots would bring anyone in earshot whether the man had shouted or not.

"Where's that office, Blake?" Avon asked him urgently as Soolin calmly picked off one of the men and Tarrant shot the other one. Blake's gun was still in his hand, but he hadn't tried to fire.

The rebel jumped as if coming out of a trance, and pointed. "There, Avon."

"Then come on."

When they entered, they found a middle-aged man sitting behind a massive desk. He was whipcord lean, his hair was slate grey and his eyes were like pebbles in an unyielding face. He had a standard para gun in one hand which pointed directly at Avon's heart. Hearing troops thudding down the corridors toward their party, Avon pushed forward into the room in spite of the officer, his own gun selecting it's particular target, the spot directly between the major's eyes. The man did not flinch, though he stood up carefully. He and Avon faced each other. Stalemate.

The others followed him into the room and began to take pot shots at the approaching soldiers.

"We're here for one reason," Avon said coldly. "And I should warn you that if you shoot me, you will die."

"You're here to kill me anyway," the major retaliated. "Dying now or later is all the same to me. At least this way I should have the satisfaction of seeing you die. You're Kerr Avon. I recognize you. You left our hospitality a little early the last time. I never expected you back, with Blake gone."

"But I'm not gone," Blake cut in smoothly. Perhaps it was the threat to Avon, but suddenly he had found the resolution to act. "I've come back. I've returned with some unpleasant memories of your 'hospitality.' My friends and I mean to destroy this base."

"Six of you?" the man asked scornfully. "And three of them women?"

"You'll find that some women are deadlier than men," Soolin purred.

"Yes, you'll believe it before we've finished with you," Dayna added, stepping forward and leveling her gun at the major. "I should quite like to be known as the girl who killed you."

The man had no nerves. He regarded her dispassionately, but his gun never wavered. "How will you destroy the base?" he asked. "Setting charges? My men will find enough of them to save the place. A fleet is on its way here now. You don't have the time to wait."

A shot whizzed past the door and Tarrant ducked into the room. "That was too close," he remarked. "What, Avon, haven't you killed him yet?"

"Terrorists," the man remarked. "That's all you are, filthy terrorists. Blake, you're the worst of them. Alpha grades like you shouldn't be mucking about with the lower orders."

"Alphas like _us_ ," Tarrant cut in, in the most elegant accents he could manage, which were quite elegant indeed, "have the sense to understand the truth when it's right before our eyes. Which is more than Betas like yourself might grasp. Blake wants equality for all, but personally, I draw the line at high ranking Federation officers. We want thinking people in our rebellion, not Servalan's puppets. And yes, we know about Servalan. Dayna killed her." He gestured at Dayna, who frowned at the soldier menacingly.

The major began to perspire. He cast one uneasy glance at a side door. Avon followed the movement. "Blake," he began urgently. "I think now--"

The door burst open and swung hard against the wall as Tanx and another officer came charging into the room. Blake fired automatically and Tanx fell dead. The other man went low, firing as he dropped, and Tarrant blurted out something incoherent, pain in his voice.

"Now, Cally, now!" shouted Jenna into her bracelet.

"You've had your warning," Avon informed the major as Soolin shot the man on the floor. The teleport began to take them and the major cried out in rage and fired at point blank range.

Avon staggered back, but the teleport transfer had just begun. A second earlier and he would have been killed. A second later and it would have had no effect. But the charge struck just as the teleport field began to form.

Avon felt a power backlash flare through his body, the shock enough to stagger him. He was falling as he landed on the teleport grid and Blake shot out an alarmed hand to catch him, lowering him carefully to the floor. "Avon, my god, he got you. How bad is it?"

Tarrant sat down abruptly beside him, clutching at his left arm, his face gone pale with shock. Feeling remote and detached, Avon noted clinically that it was only a minor wound, not likely to be disabling.

Blake tugged at Avon's tunic. "Where did he get you, Avon? Avon? Can you hear me?" He looked up at Jenna. "I think he's in shock. His eyes aren't focusing."

The detachment began to fade and Avon shook his head lightly, reaching out to bat Blake's hands away. "I'm not hit, Blake. I got some feedback through the teleport field."

"I didn't know that was possible." Blake pulled open Avon's tunic. "You've got a mild blaster burn, but I don't think it will blister. You scared me."

"I was not particularly fond of the experience myself. But I think you might see to Tarrant. And I should not delay the destruction of the base if I were you. Those pursuit ships will be returning shortly." He sat up carefully, wincing a little. His joints hurt when he moved, but there seemed no permanent damage.

Blake helped him to his feet and made as if to dust him off. Cally left the controls to examine Tarrant's arm. "It is not serious, Blake," she informed him. "Come along to the medical unit, Tarrant and I'll take care of it."

"First we blast the base." He had regained control--and enthusiasm--and insisted on standing, though he swayed a little as he found his balance. Dayna took his good arm to steady him.

Destroying the base proved easier than they had expected. Though they seldom attacked ground installations from orbit, it was a workable system. Blake himself was granted the privilege of pushing the button, reminding Avon of the rebel's offer to Bek to avenge his sister the time Blake, in his infinite wisdom, had tried to form an alliance with the Terra Nostra. Blake punched the button with considerable relish, and Avon nodded quietly. There might yet be hope for the man.

When Zen reported the base in rubble, Blake rose, suddenly uneasy again. "Avon?" he asked.

"You mean to confront them?" asked the tech, eyeing Blake carefully. He believed Blake's enemy should die, but he didn't know if Blake could deal with him. It might be better to get away now before the pursuit ships arrived.

"Yes, I mean to confront them. Are you well enough to come with me?"

"Of course. Did you ever doubt it?"

"Then let's get it over," he said with a hesitant smile. "Before I lose my nerve."

"Who else are you taking, Blake?" Jenna asked sharply. "I don't like this very much."

"Are you volunteering?" Avon asked her. "Personally, from their reaction to Dayna and Cally the last time, I would recommend an all male landing party. Tarrant?"

"I intend to come," the pilot insisted.

"But you're wounded," objected Dayna. "I'm not afraid of them, Avon."

"Oh, but you should be," Blake replied. She looked at him doubtfully but didn't push it.

"I'll come too," Vila surprised Avon by volunteering.

"Remarkable," Avon replied sardonically.

"Naturally. I've always been remarkable."

"You have simply never bothered to prove it." Avon wondered if Vila's chatter might help Blake relax, so he chose to encourage it.

"I have never understood why it's necessary to go out of my way to appear remarkable," Vila observed, his eyes alight with glee. "Or why it should be necessary to prove it at all."

Avon caught the paraphrase of something he had once said and couldn't hold back a smile. Vila was coming on. It would never do to let him realize Avon felt that way, so he tried to stifle his amusement, but not before he caught Vila's delighted return smile.

As they walked to the teleport, their lightheartedness faded. Blake walked slowly and ponderously as if wading through concrete. Cally, who had come to teleport them, caught Avon's eye and nodded at Blake.

//Please watch him, Avon. I am concerned about him.//

For the first time, Avon rather wished he could send back. But he could only nod in agreement.

They materialized in the same place as before, outside Jo's 'hide'. Just as quickly, they were noticed. The man must post a watch. "Don't come any closer or you'll die," a voice yelled.

"Send out Jo," Avon called back. "We have business with him."

"I decide who I deal with." Jo emerged from the building, looking as filthy and haggard as before. Bristling with weapons, he took a few steps toward them followed by Rolly and the other bodyguard, who were as well armed.

"I'm not sure I like the look of this," Tarrant said to Vila in an undertone.

"I _know_ I don't like it," the thief returned uneasily. "Maybe we should just go."

But Jo had recognized his callers. "Blake," he bellowed with every evidence of enthusiasm. "It's good to see you. You were sadly missed."

Blake froze, fear and fury warring in his face. But he proved his strength. "I can't say the reverse was true."

Jo threw back his head and laughed. "No, guess you couldn't. But I always liked you, Blake. You should've stuck around. Might have formed your own gang one day. We'd've made a great team against the Green Terrors. Filthy scum. We raided them, looking for you. Killed six." He waved a hand at a post that stood at the corner of the hide. "See. That's one of 'em's heads."

"I think I shall be sick," Vila muttered in an aside to Tarrant. The pilot didn't reply, but Avon could feel his distaste.

"Why're you back, Blake?" Jo asked with a leer that revealed stained and broken teeth. "Did yer miss me"?"

"I missed Servalan more," Blake replied pointedly.

"We have conducted your trial," Avon announced, for Blake looked like he couldn't take much more. "The verdict was unanimous. You have been found guilty. The sentence is death."

"Try it, mate, and you'll find your head on a post just like that one," Jo replied, unimpressed. "Talk's cheap. You, my fancy leather jacket, don't look tough enough to take me. But you just might be pretty enough to interest me. Or maybe even the boy behind you. We'd make him more than welcome, eh, Rolly?"

"More'n welcome, Jo," his henchman bawled back, elbowing his companion and laughing.

Tarrant paled, his mouth drawing into a tight line. Obviously he had never before considered himself a potential rape victim and he didn't like the feeling. Avon turned back to Jo and leveled his gun at him.

"That's it, try it. Me and my mates are armed and waiting. There're fifty guns on you right now. Kill us and you die too. What's this? Revenge? Poaching your preserve, was I?" He howled with laughter. "I don't wonder, really. Never fought me. Did anything he could to please me. Scared to stand up to me, he was. Didn't have the guts. I could do anything I wanted with him. I quite missed him when he was gone."

Avon shot him. He didn't even have to think about it. He shot him in the middle of the chest and Jo's laughter chopped off with a gurgle of astonishment as he staggered backward. His eyes focused blankly on Avon, then he bent to look down at himself. He was dead before he completed the motion.

"I'm sorry, Blake," Avon said in a hasty aside. "I know you wanted him yourself." He felt a protective rage rise up and threaten to choke him. Killing Jo like that was too good for the man, too clean. But he was gone and that was final.

"I just wanted him dead." Blake shook himself as if coming out of a trance, looking thoroughly sick, then he yelled and flung himself at Avon, knocking him to the ground. As they went down, he was firing. Shots whizzed through the air and Avon felt the heat of one of them miss his head by centimeters. Blake was shouting something as he fired, never hesitating. Rolly fell too, and the man with him staggered back, grabbing at his leg.

"Get us out of here," Blake cried. "Call for teleport, Vila."

The thief pried himself out of the dirt and lifted his bracelet. "Teleport, Cally!"

They landed in an untidy huddle in the middle of the grid, and Avon struggled for breath pinned beneath Blake's weight. Vila's eyes were squeezed shut. "Are we alive?" he asked nervously.

"I can't speak for you," Tarrant replied, "but I was never so glad to leave a place. I think he did have fifty men shooting at us. Anyone hurt?"

"I'm all right," Blake replied, standing up and stretching out a hand to pull Avon to his feet. "And there wouldn't have been more than fifteen people there. People never stayed with Jo any longer than they could help. Are you hurt, Avon?"

"I shall be black and blue," he replied, dusting off the front of his tunic. "You're not a lightweight, Blake. However, considering the alternative, I shall forgive you." He eyed the rebel cautiously, trying to determine how shaken he was.

Blake nodded. "I meant to kill him," he said in a low voice. "I went down there determined to kill him, but, even the way he was, I'm not certain I could have done it. Maybe the habit was too ingrained." He shuddered and avoided Avon's eyes.

"I didn't see you pulling your shots," Avon replied uncomfortably. "In any case, I have no qualms about killing him. It shall not disturb my sleep."

"We look at things differently," Blake replied. "But I don't believe you were wrong. Thank you."

Avon nodded. "Are you all right, Blake?" he asked quietly.

The rebel lifted his eyes and met Avon's look. "I think I will be," he admitted. "It's a relief to have it finally over." He squared his shoulders. "And now, I suggest Tarrant gets that arm looked to and we get out of this system as fast as we can."

*** *** ***

It was the late watch, and Blake had taken it alone, suddenly confident to do so. He wasn't certain if it was the death of his nemesis and the destruction of the Reyallen base or if were simply being back on the _Liberator_ that had done it, but he suspected the fact of finally achieving Avon's support had done more than any of the other things. The nightmare of Reyallen would disturb him for some time to come. Those memories were too painful to abandon easily. But that was all they remained--memories. They didn't control him any longer. He controlled them. He could admit now how the torture, the subtle influence of the programmers, Servalan's sly insinuations, and the weeks of endless pain had pushed him over the edge. He'd been afraid to make waves after that, unable to stand up to Jo, who used his control to hurt and demean other people. Panicked and helpless, Blake had found himself unable to fight back. He could do nothing but helplessly give in. Shame lingered at the edges of Blake's mind as he made himself remember and face those memories, but he knew he must leave it behind. He'd found the ability to fight back once more, not just for himself but for other people, the helpless, the downtrodden. He didn't mean anything like Reyallen to happen again.

Turning his back on the past, he contemplated his future. In the past few weeks, he had managed to acquire a perfectly good--though slightly dented--secret base beyond the sphere of Federation influence. He had a fleet of three ships and an expanded crew. The Slave computer was still a virtual unknown, but Orac's interest in it suggested it could be useful, though Soolin had described its obsequious personality in terms that made him wonder if Avon might not be required to do some minor reprogramming. Three ships were a good start. They could begin modifying _Moonwind_ and _Scorpio_. Perhaps Orac could study Zen's basic schematics and come up with a way to give the other two ships more speed. Interesting if the auto repair system could be duplicated one day. Servalan had always meant to make a fleet of _Liberator_ s. Though she had the best of Federation scientists backing her, she didn't have Orac and she didn't have Avon. Blake himself was a competent engineer and he could do his bit. It might be possible to recruit disillusioned Federation scientists to back them. With a fleet of _Liberator_ s, anything was possible.

"Are you planning the downfall of the Federation?"

He turned, not at all startled, realizing he had known for some moments that Avon was watching him. The feeling had been too comfortable to distract him, but he had been aware of the other man in the back of his mind. Now he smiled. "I was," he agreed. "Wondering if we might duplicate some of the _Liberator_ 's more useful factors on the other ships. And planning a recruitment drive."

"I have set Orac to the task of investigating President Benzer," Avon admitted, coming forward slowly. He had a stack of data boards under one arm, which he deposited on the table near the little computer. "Learning his attitudes toward the current political situation--and to us--is an essential step. We must learn the extent of the threat against us under the new regime."

"I'm still having a little trouble viewing you as a rebel," Blake said with mild amusement.

"I do not know that I am," Avon replied promptly. "Certainly I am no crusader. But I have come to realize that I will not tolerate the Federation in its current state. Reyallen taught me that." He watched Blake's face intently as he spoke, and the rebel understood it.

"I'm all right, Avon," he said after a moment. "I won't forget Reyallen in a hurry, but it's over. It happened and nothing can change that, but I decided a long time ago that letting them change me was the same as letting them win. I forgot it awhile down there. But I remember it now."

"I don't understand you, Blake," Avon complained, sitting down and picking up the top data board. He didn't start work on it immediately though. "You suffer for other people, and you leave yourself open to pain. When you're hurt, you bleed, but you keep on going. I can't understand how you endure it."

"Jo, do you mean?" It still bothered him to remember the man, but the pain had started to distance itself from the present reality. He shivered lightly. "You don't hold it against me?" he asked warily.

Avon looked shocked at the question. "I hold it against _him_." The fury in his voice was not directed at Blake. He added with some impatience, "He could never really touch you, Blake--because he couldn't stand against that which makes you what you are. You protected yourself in the only way possible. You came out of it alive and sane. I envy that strength. It has ever been my way to shut my pain away and pretend it does not exist."

"Does it work?" Blake asked softly, needing the reassurance of an answer, any answer as long as Avon chose to give it. "Tell me honestly, Avon, just between us?"

Avon set the board down again and raised reluctant eyes. "I...rather doubt it," he admitted with some difficulty. "But it is the way I am. I have been forced to make some concessions in the past weeks. One of them is that you--matter to me, Blake. I am not comfortable with it, and I do not intend to keep repeating it. It annoys me that I have created a vulnerability in myself. It has always been my purpose to avoid pain. Where you are concerned, however, that no longer seems possible."

"The last thing I would ever do is hurt you, Avon. You know that."

"I know you would not choose to hurt me. I also know you are a target for every trooper in the Federation and any bounty hunter who sees you. You intend to thrust yourself into the thick of the fray and you may as well paint a target upon your chest. Your life and mine may be linked, but that also means your death will affect me. I could ask you to be careful, but that would be asking you to change your entire nature. You present me with a conundrum, Blake."

"Because you would prefer to avoid the risk?" Blake asked gently watching Avon through slightly narrowed eyes.

"Because I can no longer do so, yet it goes against everything else I believe. Damn you, Blake, there is nothing else for it but to stay here and watch your back. I may never forgive you for this." He smiled reluctantly.

Blake chuckled. "What makes you think it's your conundrum alone, Avon?" he asked. "Do you imagine I'll like risking _your_ life? I have no choice. It's the way I'm made. You wouldn't like me without my Cause."

"I've come to realize that," Avon said sourly. He shook his head. "But it is done. Be very careful, Blake. If you manage to die for this Cause of yours, I'll kill you."

Blake laughed. "This Cause of _ours_ , Avon. I'll remember that."

"See that you do. In the meantime, there is a lot of work to do. Here, tell me what you make of that?" He passed the board to him. "Orac's first report on Benzer. I think there are some interesting paradoxes awaiting us. If it were not so disgustingly optimistic, I should say that the man has had rebel contacts in the past."

"Really? You hearten me, Avon."

"Wonderful." Avon clapped his hands together in a parody of delight. "I don't plan to enjoy this, Blake."

"Maybe not, Avon, but I do." Sliding closer to Avon on the couch, he bent his head over the board and got down to serious work.

 

ENVOI

 

Night was an arbitrary time on the _Liberator_ , a period set aside to maintain the twenty four hour cycle to which humans had accustomed themselves over the millennia on Terra. Any period would have done but shortly after the crew had escaped from Cygnus Alpha with six of the original seven on board, Jenna had suggested it. It lent itself well to work cycles, easily divided into three watches, and the rest of the crew had fallen into the routine. Occasionally they had been forced to adapt their time to that of a planet, and Tarrant had explained that such time discrepancy had once been called jet lag. Trust him to know the odd fact, as long as it involved flight.

Since Blake's return to the _Liberator_ , Avon had shared the second watch with him, and the third, the night watch, was quiet. Jenna or Tarrant tended to take it, spending their solitude in communion with the great vessel, perfectly happy with the feeling of power beneath their hands. Avon had never minded the night watch either, but these days, he tended to spend his watches with Blake.

It was more than the fact that Blake had been broken on the penal planet Reyallen and was just beginning to find his feet again. He had proven on their attack on the prison world that he was regaining his nerve. Avon trusted him not to panic should a crisis arise when he was alone on the flight deck. He had privately instructed Zen to monitor Blake at such times, and then, conscious of something owed to the man to whom he had finally proclaimed loyalty, he had informed the rebel what he had done.

Blake had not taken offense. "I appreciate the gesture," he had said, "though I hope it won't be necessary." And indeed in the three weeks since leaving Reyallen, Blake had reacted well. Once when Avon had gone to the computer section to do some minor repairs, a flotilla of three pursuit ships had come into range, and Blake had managed, summoning help in a controlled voice, manning his position with quiet authority. When Avon had come charging onto the flight deck, conscious of betraying his concern for the man he had often appeared to scorn, Blake had merely lifted his head and smiled, and Avon had felt his tension run away, leaving him free to concentrate on the minor threat of three pursuit ships.

Blake had been through hell on Reyallen, and most of it left no visible reminders, though the scars on his back were vivid enough. Death had been too good for the prisoner Jo who had enjoyed bringing Blake down, forcing him to surrender everything including his body and his self respect in order to survive. Blake had felt some liberation at Jo's death at Avon's hands, but there were still occasional dark shadows in his eyes, and after the first night, he'd avoided talking about it, though he and Avon talked more openly about everything else.

Avon shook his head. He had never understood why he should be drawn to this man who was so different from him. Cynics and idealists made strange bedfellows, but perhaps the old cliche about opposites attracting had some merit after all. Avon scowled at the simplistic explanation. In spite of their differences, he and Blake had always been remarkably companionable between spats, though the spats had often overshadowed everything else. They had struggled for dominance and for control of the _Liberator_ , while Blake attempted to win Avon to his cause, sometimes with blandishments, sometimes with hard words. Avon had often threatened to leave and had meant it, but when it came down to it, he had been unable to go. Then came the Andromedans and it was Blake who left.

At first Avon had sought him, determined to keep his word and return Blake to Earth, then, when it became apparent that there was no point in that, at least not yet, he had continued his search, though he would have denied it vehemently until the false message that drew him to Terminal. After that it was impossible to deny.

Blake was back now, and Jenna with him, and the crew had been increased with the addition of the woman Soolin, who had been Dorian's companion on Xenon, their new base. _Liberator_ was returning there now after a rendezvous with Avalon, who had emerged from the chaos left by the Andromedan war relatively intact. Blake had big plans for the future, and for the first time, Avon had found himself unable to mock them. In an abortive rescue mission on Reyallen, he had reached the conclusion that Blake was right, that the Federation must be brought down, and Avon had signed himself up as a deliberate follower. Prepared to back Blake and make certain he didn't let his impulsive idealism overtake his good sense, Avon viewed the job before him as near impossible, but one from which he could not back down.

It was quiet on the great ship. He had left Cally and Vila in the rest room bent over the game board with Dayna kibitzing. It was well over two hours into the night watch and Avon was prepared to get some rest. Blake had left the second watch a little early, claiming a slight headache, and Avon found he had missed him as he sat over his dinner listening to Tarrant describing his plans for modifying the _Scorpio_ , their newly acquired ship that was waiting for them back on Xenon. It wasn't that he couldn't tolerate Tarrant, for the presence of Blake had altered his relationship with the young pilot. They no longer seemed in competition, though the old fireworks could reassert themselves without much effort. But Tarrant wasn't Blake. Avon grimaced. There were times when he hardly recognized himself these days. He and Blake had come through the crucible and the future looked brighter than Avon would have believed possible a short three months ago.

As he started down the corridor that led to his cabin, he heard a faint sound and paused, listening. It was not immediately repeated, and he had just shaken his head, convinced it was merely one of the little sounds common to the running of all deep space vessels when he heard it again, louder this time. It wasn't mechanical, it was human, and it sounded pained, tormented.

Avon took a cautious step in that direction, braced for some new threat--the unfamiliar was generally threatening in Avon's book. But two more steps made him realize what it was and he froze a second before he started running. It was coming from Blake's cabin.

Avon opened the door without hesitation, able to see Blake in the dim light that filtered past him from the corridor. The man's face was twisted in anguish and his eyes were open, but Avon doubted he was awake. Nightmares. Tarrant and Jenna had mentioned nightmares, and Blake himself had confessed himself prone to them in a confiding moment. But the reality struck Avon like a knife and for once his instincts drove him toward another person in torment instead of away.

"Blake?" He took the man's shoulder in a gentle grasp, half afraid to shake him awake. One shouldn't awaken sleepwalkers. Blake wasn't sleepwalking, but he wasn't awake either. Better to let him come out of it naturally.

Blake cried out again at the touch and Avon wondered if he could be heard on the flight deck. He should have closed the door behind him but when he started to lift his hand, Blake lunged at him and wrapped his arms around him. "I knew you'd come."

A shadow fell across Blake's face and Avon, trapped in Blake's desperate grip could only turn his head to see Tarrant outlined there.

"Go with it, Avon," the young pilot urged. "Talk him through it. He'll be all right when he wakes up, and I think it'll do him good to wake up and find you here."

Once Avon would have scorned any such suggestion, but Blake's condition was all tied up with Avon's failure to rescue him from Reyallen. That Avon had not known of his presence there until after he'd been rescued was something Blake accepted rationally but not emotionally. If Avon pulled back now, he might do untold harm, and Blake's presence was still enough of a miracle for Avon to allow himself to be more open than usual.

He nodded at Tarrant. "Close the door on your way out," he said in an undertone. The younger man nodded, reaching for the light controls and turning them to dim. When the door closed, Avon and Blake were not pitched into darkness--and an enclosed ship's cabin could be very dark indeed--but into a soft and gentle half-light that wouldn't startle the rebel into awareness too quickly.

"I'm here, Blake," Avon said gently. "I came as soon as I could."

In response to his voice, Blake's grip tightened and he clung to Avon as if it held him to reality, to sanity. He was hot and fevered and his pyjama top was damp with sweat, but the trembling that had shaken his body began to ease immediately.

"Easy, easy, Blake," Avon breathed. Comforting people had never come easy to him. "It's all right. It's over. They're dead and you'll never go back. I'm here." Odd that Blake would take such reassurance from his presence, but Blake did. He eased his grip from a near stranglehold to something closer to a hug and nuzzled his face against Avon's shoulder. Avon raised an awkward hand and stroked the tight curls beneath his fingers. Blake's hair was growing longer now, and Avon was glad of it. Neither did he miss the mustache that Blake had parted with once Reyallen was behind them.

"A-avon"?" That wasn't part of the dream, it was a conscious question, and Avon eased back just far enough to look at Blake's face and watch awareness seep into it. "What--"

"A nightmare, Blake. It's all right. Try to sleep."

Blake resisted. He sat back away from Avon and dropped his head into his hands, raking his fingers through the curls. "Not again," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you." Bitterness ran through his voice.

"You didn't," said Avon shortly. "I was passing and heard you. Don't apologize for something over which you had no control."

"But that's just it, Avon." Blake was alert again, and he raised his face to reveal the look of a man who has seen something distinctly unpalatable. "I thought it was over. We've made peace with each other. It should be over. I shouldn't still blame you in my dreams."

"Very good, Blake. Convenient. You would need amazing control over your subconscious mind to manage that. Naturally we've come to terms with each other. That doesn't mean your memory has been wiped. I still dream occasionally about--Anna's death by torture, though I know it never happened. It's rather a more welcome dream than the ones repeating her actual death. Yes, we've achieved a peace. That doesn't mean you aren't still healing."

Blake looked at him, startled. "But it's over," he insisted fiercely.

Avon shifted a little, getting comfortable, raising his hands to indicate he wasn't leaving when Blake made an abortive and half-panicked grab at his arm. "Over, is it? Just like that? Of course you want it over, Blake. The actual deed is done. But one of the reasons I've long eschewed close relationships is to avoid pain. It's why I'd closed myself away. Give nothing the power to touch you and it won't." He sighed, grateful for the dim lighting that came from above, and bent his head forward a little to shade his face. "A pity it doesn't work. We can't simply say, 'it doesn't matter,' or 'I don't care.' I became the expert at just that--and yet I fell apart, nearly destroyed this ship and the others with it, even turned it over to Servalan because it seemed that I did." He went on quickly before the sudden elation on Blake's face would prompt the bigger man to say something just a little too emotional. "Cally would say you must allow yourself those feelings, that you must work your way through them. I wish she were here, rather than me, because she would know how to do it, and I do not."

"I don't want Cally," Blake replied, pulling his blankets up around him as if he were cold. Avon helped him settle himself.

"Then what do you want, Blake?" he asked.

"To talk to you. Sometimes, when I look at you and see how you've changed, I can't believe my luck. Yet I know I've changed too, and I don't deserve it. That doesn't mean I'm not greedy enough to hold on tight, but sometimes, when I remember..." His voice trailed off.

"If we're to talk about deserving..." Avon began, only to have Blake make a violent movement of protest.

"Avon, listen to me. I still remember the dreams. I still remember Reyallen. I don't think I'll ever forget it. I don't know if it will ever be over."

"Yes, it will be over. One can live with unbearable anguish, Blake. You can put it behind you and go on. That's what you must do, what you have the strength to do."

"Strength!" Blake laughed bitterly. "Strength, Avon? I doubt I've the strength to stand up to one of our old fights."

"You have strength, Blake. You had the strength to survive. You know yourself that it wasn't easy."

"Easy! It was all too easy. I paid the price down there, Avon, and the price I paid was me. I don't know myself any more. I don't like what I see when I look in the mirror."

"A little healthy self pity is just what you need right now," Avon replied, managing the necessary scorn with considerable effort. "Blake, listen to me. You did what you had to do to survive. Sometimes the price of survival is high, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't pay it. Dying gives no second chances, and I, for one, am glad you are alive and back on the _Liberator_. I admit you went through hell to return. But the only one who can let it diminish you is you. Those others back on Reyallen are either dead or still trapped there. They don't matter any longer--if they ever did. They aren't spending all their hours remembering you. They're still paying the price of survival. You're the one who is free." He didn't know if that would help. He rather doubted it would be so easy. Time usually worked better than glib words when a person had been through a trauma, be it physical or mental. Avon had deliberately avoided involving himself in other people's problems before, so he wasn't very good at it. The old cynical side of his nature felt a tinge of scorn even now, though he wouldn't yield to it. Blake mattered to him more than that. Having finally admitted it, Avon intended to act upon it, even if it meant lowering his guard to Blake from time to time-. It made him uncomfortable, but right now his own comfort was a very low priority.

Blake seemed unmoved by his words. "You weren't there," he said caustically. "You didn't have to sell yourself to stay alive another day, to get a crust of bread to eat. Don't imagine they were decent to me simply because I made it easy for them. They despised me, almost as much as I despised myself." He shuddered violently and pulled at the blankets as if they couldn't warm him enough. "They liked to inflict pain. It proved they were men, you see. I tried, sometimes, to fight, but never hard enough. Sometimes..." His eyes dropped. "Sometimes I tried to pretend I was back here. Sometimes I even..." His voice trailed off and he turned his head away.

"You may as well say it, Blake. I hardly imagine you can shock me." That was the right line to take, matter of fact, accepting.

Blake looked up again, pinning Avon with eyes that accused even as they turned blame back into themselves. "Sometimes I pretended it was you," he said defiantly, refusing to break the look. He waited with a faint hint of desperate pride for Avon to reject him in disgust.

Avon discovered he _was_ shocked, not necessarily that Blake might view him as a potential sexual partner, for nothing was impossible and while he'd never really thought of Blake like that, he found nothing to disgust him in the idea. What did shock him was that Blake would equate him with the sadistic rapists who had brutalized him. No wonder he had nightmares. No wonder he'd turned away from Avon and buried his resentment inside, ready to spring to life at the first trace of him.

"If you imagine I would have treated you like that--" he began abruptly, discovering it hurt him.

Blake was startled, recognizing the trend of Avon's thoughts. "You don't mind?" he asked blankly.

"What I mind is that you would think me as low as them," he confessed. "I am no sadist, Blake. Inflicting deliberate pain does not amuse me."

"Damn it, Avon, I was trying to _avoid_ pain. I twisted it about in my mind, lied to myself that it was something it wasn't, and used you as the object of that delusion."

"It sounds like a valid survival characteristic to me," Avon replied. The worst thing he could do now would be to repel Blake. He wasn't sure how they'd got so deep so quickly, but it must have been buried beneath the surface ready to spring out at the first opportune moment. No wonder Blake was still dreaming. He was still blaming himself for his conduct on Reyallen, still half convinced that Avon and the others would condemn him for it. If Avon showed the slightest hint of disapproval now, Blake would find his own opinions of himself confirmed and he would withdraw completely, convinced he was worthless and only fit to be despised.

"Survival..." Blake muttered in disgust. He refused to meet Avon's eyes.

"Do you still view me that way?" Avon asked practically. It might be a reasonable means of getting past all of this, though he'd never considered sex in itself a cure for rape. It might produce more problems than it solved. Avon waited warily, not quite sure exactly what it was he wanted Blake to say.

The rebel was startled at the question. His eyes shot up and bored into Avon's. "Does that mean you'd be willing to have sex with me if I asked you to?" he wanted to know. It was a challenge.

"Of course," said Avon matter of factly. "If that was what it would take." He frowned, waiting.

"But you wouldn't enjoy it," Blake declared positively. He shifted in his blankets but made no overt moves.

"I expect I would probably enjoy it," Avon replied honestly.

"But it isn't something you'd seek out?"

"It isn't something that occurred to me before, Blake. Give me time to accustom myself to the idea."

"No, Avon, I don't expect it of you. I don't want your pity and I don't think it's the real solution. I just felt it fair to tell you what I'd done." He raised eyes that held sudden gratitude. "I half expected you to walk out of here and never come back."

"In essence, you were testing me?" Avon asked sharply.

"No, Avon." Blake settled the blankets around his shoulders. "I think I was testing myself."

"Explain."

"Because that was the worst of it," Blake admitted in a voice that held the faintest thread of hope. "l wanted to see what you'd do about it. If you couldn't accept me, I'd know I didn't deserve your acceptance, that I'd gone beyond what was acceptable."

"Don't be a fool, Blake," Avon snapped. "I should hardly condemn you for staying alive. Death for a meaningless principle is a pointless death. In any case, you are not the only person to live through such an experience and I doubt you will be the last. Your experience may be worse than most, but you were the victim, not the one to blame. I should have known you'd find a way to feel guilty. You've always been good at that."

Oddly enough, the criticism seemed to help. Blake relaxed a little, loosing his death grip on the blanket. "Thank you, Avon. I knew I could count on you to dispense with the emotional appeal."

"That was ever my way." He stared at the other man, finding in himself none of the contempt and pity he might once have felt at the sight of someone wallowing in self-inflicted misery. "I told you before that they couldn't really touch you, Blake, and I meant it. I saw you talking to Avalon the other day and the old fire was in your eyes. You were determined to plunge into the fray once more and start saving your rabble from oppression. If you really hated yourself, you couldn't do that. You'd have no energy to spare for the downtrodden masses. You're simply enjoying a maudlin wallow in self-pity. I shouldn't encourage it, but perhaps I'll allow it this once."

" _You'll_ allow it?" Blake snapped hotly. "What right have _you_ to allow it? You weren't down there."

"That's better. That sounds more like the Blake I know and, er, love." He added hastily before Blake could speak, "No, Blake, I wasn't down there. I shall never know how bad it was, and neither will anyone else on this ship. What I do know are my own bad experiences, which I can use as a basis of comparison. Some things never stop hurting, Blake. But wounds scab over and the pain grows dull. I avoided my own pain by pretending it did not matter. I doubt it would have proven a permanent solution. But that is not your way."

"And just what is my way?" Blake asked, his voice firmer.

"l should have said it was to go on punishing yourself until you felt you'd had enough. In this case, I will not permit it. I will suggest you direct the punishment to the place it most appropriately belongs. The Federation. They took you to Reyallen. They tortured you until you could withstand no more and put you among the prisoners in the hopes of further breaking you. I always thought, when I considered it at all, that the whole point of your great revolution was to stop that kind of oppression. It is for that purpose that I have agreed to back you in your fight."

Some of Blake's old spirit flowed into his face and he put out a hand and clasped Avon's with a grateful and ardent touch. "You're right, of course. I know that, really. And I know that time will help. But that's not what helps the most."

"I know shall probably regret asking this, Blake, but what does help the most? In my obviously feebleminded way, I shall no doubt be asked to provide it. For the sake of peace on this ship, you have only to ask."

"Nothing you haven't already done, Avon. Your support means more to me than I can tell you. And your friendship..."

"If we are to become sentimental, Blake, I shall leave. I am changing, but slowly, and it is not easy to grow into this new image of myself."

"Easy?" Blake asked. "No, but nothing is easy, Avon. I won't ask you to be sentimental--at least not often. I'll just ask you to be here."

"Well now, perhaps I can manage that much."

"I know you can." Blake eased his way out of his blanket cocoon. "If you can become a rebel--albeit reluctantly--perhaps I can make myself realize that I'm not to be despised."

"You are hardly that, Blake. But I begin to suspect you are fishing for compliments."

Blake smiled for the first time, a fragile and tentative smile, but a real one for all that. Some of the warmth that he'd always been so willing to give brightened it and Avon felt a sudden, involuntary pang of something he couldn't define at the sight of it. He'd killed Blake's main tormentor and Servalan was dead, but the Federation was still out there, still strong. Avon suspected his devotion to the cause was composed of nine parts revenge. So be it.

"Fishing for compliments?" Blake asked softly. "No, reassurances. I should have doubted you were the man to give them."

"But then I have changed," said Avon brightly. "I suggest you go back to sleep now, Blake. I am certain you need it."

Blake nodded. He eyed Avon with more than gratitude, and, flinging aside the blankets completely, he put his arms around Avon and held him. "Vila said you needed hugs," he remarked into Avon's ear. "But this one is for me."

Avon had been surprised to discover that he had rather enjoyed this experience before, and he enjoyed it now, but that was beside the point. He put his arms around Blake in turn, holding him close and protected to be certain the other man would not feel rejection. He doubted a sexual relationship would ever develop between them, though anything was possible. He felt nothing of that now, only a different urge, so tentative and wary that he scarcely recognized it as protectiveness. Anyone who tried to hurt Blake in future would have to come through Avon to do it.

This _was_ a new Avon, and he was not certain he liked himself this way. Certainly he was uncomfortable with it and meant to keep it private. But to his surprise, he made no effort to squelch it, to turn it away with a fine and cynical mockery. Blake was back and Blake was staying, and that was all that mattered.

Freeing the other man, Avon waited with a display of impatience that didn't fool Blake for a minute. He settled the blankets briskly around the rebel. "I suppose you'd expect me to wait while you fall asleep?"

Blake grinned at the note of conscious mockery Avon had put into his voice. "I expect you to be Avon, no more, no less. Go to bed. We wouldn't want to damage your reputation."

"I suspect it's already in ruins," Avon admitted sourly. "Thanks to a certain rebel I know. Go to sleep, Blake."

He closed his eyes obediently. Avon withdrew to the doorway and waited for Blake's breathing to even out.

When Blake was sleeping, he let himself into the corridor. To his surprise, a figure uncurled itself from the opposite wall and turned into Tarrant.

"Is he all right?"

"It takes some time," Avon replied. "I think he will manage. You don't...despise him for Reyallen?"

Tarrant looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. " _Despise_ him? Are you mad?"

"He blames himself for part of that."

"It wasn't his fault."

" _We_ know that, but perhaps we are the more rational. I should appreciate it if you would find a way to tell him so."

" _You_ would appreciate it?" Tarrant echoed in some surprise, then his eyes narrowed and he frowned, reappraising the situation. He grinned with disgusting amusement. "Anything you say, Avon," he said cheerfully.

"A pity about that ledge," Avon remarked pointedly, recalling Tarrant's near death on Caston. "You seem to have emerged from the experience changed for the worse."

"We've all changed, Avon," Tarrant called after him as the tech strode away down the corridor. "I think I'm going to enjoy it."

"More fool you." Avon went into his cabin and shut the door--just in time. It would never do for Tarrant to see him smiling

 


End file.
